


making islands

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But I Will Kill U, Complete, Darkfic, Dominant Kylo Ren, Don’t Even Start W The “Secret Omega Rey” Comments Lmfao, Drugged Blowjob, Drugged Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Grooming, I Am Fully Kidding, Just the Tip, Knotting, Minor Finn/Rose Tico, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Nonvember, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV First Person, POV Rey (Star Wars), Painful Sex, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Spanking, Stream of Consciousness, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Teacher Ben, Teacher-Student Relationship, beta rey, blowjob, it won't be, let's be real, student rey, supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Rey moves to her fourth new school in two years. She attracts the attention of her brash Alpha chemistry teacher and is quickly convinced that he, like most people, hates her.She doesn't hate him, though. Every time he drops a crumb, she gobbles it up.





	1. shit

**Author's Note:**

> ur first fic of the month that will likely get way too long; this is for the prompt of “post knot angst” and a stay still epilogue, maybe more will be added in so I can kill two birds with one stone 
> 
> this is for my pal nic who is an angel!!!!!!!!!
> 
> transatlanticism by death cab for cutie but I prefer the cover by the Maine!!!!

Nothing but snow. Snow all the time.

I’m trapped in a vortex of the stuff, freezing drifts of it, whirling around me until I’m snow blind. That’s a thing. Snow is so white and so bright under the sun that it can make you _blind. _

I trudge up the steps to school bundled in the old jacket and gloves I found lying around my uncle’s trailer. I’m blinded right now. Little stars and dark spots bloom across the floor as I walk inside, shivering, miserable. Snow sucks. Colorado sucks.

It took two days for me to get sick of the cold and the snow; two days for me to miss the dry Arizona heat. I ate snow, packed it into a snowman, and now it’s making me blind and cold. It sucks. When can I leave? When do I get those heat waves back—the mirage on the road? Soon?

No. It’s all plows hefting metric shit-tons of snow off the roads. I’m a cactus planted in a blizzard, and I’m going to suffer before I die.

—•—

“Hey.”

I’m halfway done with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich when someone whispers. I turn and see a girl smiling at me. The cafeteria is loud and I’m alone so it’s nice to be talked to.

She lowers her voice. “You see the chem teacher?”

“Ah… no, I haven’t. Is…” I check my schedule. “He nice?”

“No,” she laughs, “and he’s an Alpha.” She offers her hand. “I’m Rose. Tico. You should sit with me so I can tell you everything you need to know. Mister Solo is an annoying Alpha jock, not some nerd, so you need to be careful.”

Oh—Jesus. Nodding, I gather my lunch sack and shift over to her empty table. She turns my schedule towards her and squints.

I swallow. “I’m Rey. Niima.”

“Yeah, Ben is a real Alpha. He’s got the bracelet and stuff; my mom checked the number online. Be careful. They’re so temperamental.”

Right. I’ve only heard about them; Alphas and Omegas. They’re all rare now. Most Omegas are dead I think but I’m normal so I don’t care.

Rose tells me my English teacher is nice and I don’t give Mr. Solo a second thought.

—•—

This is my third—no, fourth—new school, so I’m used to the first week being hellish. Thankfully I have Rose to steer me around and she’s a little weird, which is perfect. I love weird.

She goes to her advanced chem class and I go to basic chem. No one pays me much attention when I walk along the lockers and stay out of sight.

I make a beeline for the classroom wedged in a back corner, door open. Half of it is all big tables for the bullshit textbook experiments and the rest is faded right-handed desks that have names carved in the wood. It smells weird. Stale.

A big guy stands in front of the whiteboard and turns to look at me. He’s a teacher: he’s wearing a dress shirt with a loose tie and dark pants with a belt. He’s tall. Black hair cut just to cover his ears.

Mr. Solo, the Alpha. My gaze flickers to the silver bracelet on his left wrist and the symbol branded on the side of his neck. Holy shit. Badass. He has bad ass tattoos down his forearms, too. Badass.

He keeps turning, tightening his tie, not quite looking at me. It’s obvious that I blend in with the six hundred other students he sees every day.

“Who are you?” Deep voice. Makes my bones shake.

“Oh—sorry. I’m Rey.” I trip over myself on my walk up to his desk to shake his hand. “Sorry. I’m Rey.”

There are all kinds of baubles on his desk. Lot of bobble heads. Why? They’re so goofy. He has a framed picture of a meme cat and smells like cigarettes and heavy woodsy cologne used to cover up the cigarettes.

He doesn’t shake my hand. I awkwardly withdraw as he offers a textbook instead, just as worn down as the desks and tables. _Chemistry Basics. _The kid on the front looks fucking lit about his Bunsen burner.

“Write your name inside,” he says. “Put a cover on it within a week. You lose it, you buy it.”

“Well—” I hesitate, fingering the soft, weathered edges. “I don’t know if you know, but I’m on the reduced lunch program, so—”

“I don’t care if you live in a fucking box on Remsen Street. Cover the book or I’ll take it away.”

Other people filter into the classroom. Mr. Solo is staring down at me and I can’t look away, locked under his dark, penetrating eyes—inhuman. This is what people mean when they say Alphas are intimidating. They’re _terrifying_.

So I nod fast. “Yes sir. Right away, sir.” I bow at the waist and laugh. “I’m sorry—I don’t know why I did that.” I bow again and swear, rushing to hide from his sharp eyes, heart racing.

“Up front.”

His deep voice brooks no argument. I just nod and sit in the desk directly in front of his and stare past him at the white board, scared shitless.

Mr. Solo turns as the bell rings to write on the whiteboard. He snaps ‘shut up’ and everyone seems to think it’s funny, judging by the wave of laughter. I look around and smile along.

He tosses his red marker on the desk and snaps his fingers. “Reynolds. Finn. Book.”

There’s a weird pause before someone gets up. He walks to the front and hands Mr. Solo his covered textbook, a fancy one with geeky spaceships. He’s a tall kid. Rose stares at him in the cafeteria.

Mr. Solo casually yanks the cover off the book and chucks it back to the kid. He throws it at me and I barely catch it before I’m hit in the face.

“Alright, sit,” he says.

“What?!” Finn shoots me a look and I stiffen. “Dude!”

I shake my head quickly. No way. I’m not making enemies in my first week.

Mr. Solo swipes his marker again. “Go sit or I’m taking you out of the game tonight. Notre Dame scout. Big shame to miss out over a book cover.”

“Dude, my mom—”

“Dameron’s parents have more money than sin; ain’t that right, Dameron?” A voice calls out ‘yes sir’ and Mr. Solo points over his shoulder, tongue clicking. “There you go, Dameron said he’d get you a new one. Five bonus points on the next test.”

The kid jumps to his feet. “Five?!”

“…Two,” Mr. Solo hedges.

Finn glances at me and back at his friend. “Wait, can we get bonus points if we bring in book covers for the new girl?”

“No, and every time you call her ‘the new girl’ I deduct six points from your average.”

Everyone laughs. Finn casts me a smile as he goes to sit, and I shrug, apologetic.

I happily pull on my book cover and stare at the back of Mr. Solo’s head. Can he shake down someone else for a pencil case?


	2. well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are meant to be short snippets of time so...... that's.... why they're short

I’m not here to make enemies, so I offer Finn his book cover back after class. He laughs and waves me off, even offering to bring me more if I need them, then Rose pops up out of literally fucking nowhere to catch his attention.

It’s fine. I’m just glad he’s not mad.

“Hey, I’ve seen you around!” Finn says.

“You have?” Rose blurts, then gets a grip. “Uh… that’s cool, I mean. I’ve seen you… doing football?”

The other students kind of break around us like waves on rocks. I wait for Rose because I have no one else and I appreciate her go-getter attitude. I’m just going home to nap after this, anyway.

Bored, I turn in a circle, listening to them laugh, and peer inside the chem classroom again.

Mr. Solo sits behind his desk talking to someone on his cell phone. He’s leaned back, sleeves rolled up, chatting away and outright staring at me. There’s not a lick of guilt in it. He’s just staring at me.

I blink and he laughs at something the other person says. He chews his gum as he slowly turns around to face the wall, more like he’s just bored of me instead of embarrassed that I caught him staring. Maybe he caught me. I feel like _I’m _the creepy one.

Rose manages to chat with Finn for two minutes before he leaves—but she gets his number. I do my best not to look back into the chem room.

“Score!” she whispers when he’s out of earshot. “Next step is getting an invite to a game.”

I nod along. “Yeah, that’ll be good. I have to head to my next class.” Even though I’d rather skip.

“Oh, what do you have? English?”

“Girls.”

We glance up at the same time. Mr. Solo stands at the door, leaning on the frame with his hands in his pockets. He raises his eyebrows and snaps his gum.

Rose grabs my arm. “Sorry! We’re going.”

“Then go.”

She nods, mumbling an apology like I did, and we scurry off down the hall together. Good—it’s not just me. He’s fucking terrifying.

—•—

Back home, Unkar has nothing nice to say about Alphas or demi-humans. He curses up a storm, ranting about how it’s inappropriate to have Alphas as teachers, then passes out in front of the TV with a Budweiser in his hand. Typical.

I sit in my bedroom and stare out the snowy window for a while. Little boring here. Finn and his football friends have a game tonight, I guess—Rose texts me the lowdown but I’m not terribly interested.

Colorado is boring: there’s no sunshine or cactuses or swimming pools. Snow is fun until you get cold or run out of shapes to pack it into.

But I didn’t have much choice: Colorado or keep bouncing around foster care. Unkar is technically family, even if he doesn’t really feel like it, and he has a little bit of money to give me. It’s better than working a part time job after school just to eat.

So I’ll suffer here until I turn eighteen or get emancipated. Might as well.

I finish my homework and clean up my small bedroom. A couple things came with me from Arizona: like a heart necklace my mom gave me that I’m too afraid to wear (and lose) in public, and a little tiny cactus in a pot.

Yeah, like _Twilight. _So what? Shoot me.

I dust and sweep and give my little cactus a drink of water before showering and going to bed. Tomorrow starts another fun and exciting day of school. Maybe Mr. Solo can deliver on that pencil case.

—•—

Week one goes by quick, and less painfully than the schools that have come before. It’s easier with Rose around and the more time I spend with her, the more I like her. Things looks up even if the weather is total balls. Snow. Blizzards and shit.

I’m trying to be positive. Rose invites me to freeze my ass off watching a football game and I stupidly agree to it, just because it gives me an excuse to get out of the house and make friends. Come on, Rey—make some goddamn friends, you asshole.

“Finn is cool, but Poe is such a douche.”

We walk down a hall after school one afternoon, arms linked, killing time until the game starts. Week three. Rose knows to bring snacks and I’ll do whatever she wants. I’ll kill someone for more of her mom’s beef barley soup, hand to god.

I nod, paying close attention to the silver lining between linoleum tiles. Step on a crack.

“Bet he’s an Alpha,” Rose continues. “His parents could pay off the registration people, I bet.” She nudges me in the ribs. “What d’you think of Mister Solo, anyway? Kinda hot. Scary.”

“_Definitely _scary.”

We laugh and take a break on the chairs outside the art classroom. It’s down the hall from the locker rooms so I know why Rose conveniently came this way, but I don’t mind. She can ogle. Good for her, honestly.

She brushes a hand through her black hair and glances down the hall. “Mom checked him out ages ago. See that brand on his neck?”

“…Yeah?”

“He got arrested.” Rose raises her eyebrows, biting her lower lip as she leans in. “_Yeah._ For a felony—they get branded when they get felonies but the school gets major grants for hiring him.”

“What kinda felony?” I ask. Reasonable question.

“Something nonviolent. It all gets charged up with them because the courts want ‘em all in jail, so he could’ve gotten a parking ticket for all I know.”

A door groans open and slams into the wall. Rose jumps to her feet to watch the guys hoofing from the locker room toward the field, all laughing and talking, and I stay in my chair to digest what she said. A felony? Why would they let someone with a felony become a teacher?

Then again—felony for a parking ticket? Seriously?

Finn comes through and smiles when he sees Rose. He waves to her, ignoring his leering buddies shuffling past, and she gives a nervous wave back. I could vomit. It’s cute; it’s disgustingly cute.

Behind him comes Mr. Solo and a smaller coach, who shuffles Finn off. I blink and can’t resist looking at the big black brand on his throat: it’s like a sideways greater than symbol with a big, angry slash bisecting it. It kind of looks like an A.

He touches the brim of his red hat. He’s chewing gum again, clipboard under his arm, team jacket unzipped in the front. Rose says Alphas run hot.

“Don’t distract the talent, girls,” he calls.

Whoops. Cowed, we hurry off, but I catch him smirking after us. Oh. Maybe he’s kidding—but it’s hard to tell.

Rose drags me out to watch the game. I have my soup so I’m content in my folding chair, bundled in blankets, sipping away while she claps and chats. It’s freezing and looks like it might snow but here I am. The things I do for free food.

Cheerleaders come out for their quick number when I’m almost done with my soup. I lick my lips and screw the lid on the thermos to take a little break.

Mr. Solo paces the sideline, arms folded over his broad chest—and I find him staring at me _again_. I turn to check he’s not staring at someone over my shoulder and when I look back he’s busy talking to the other coach, who also chews gum obnoxiously.

It’s me. I’m insane.

“Could Jessika have worn a sweater?”

I glance at Rose and her disdainful glare at the cheer team captain, Jessika. She’s a nice girl. She helped me in pre-calc the other day.

“Right?” I echo, the way girls do.

“I mean, it’s like twenty degrees out.” Rose huffs and shuffles into her six layers. “She’s always prancing around like that in front of Mister Solo, too. It’s fucking hilarious the way he ignores her.”

And ignore her he does. She comes up to talk and he chews and shakes his head but doesn’t look down at her directly. The only signs of conversation are the silvery tendrils of breath when their mouths open.

The game resumes. I reach down for my soup and smile as I sit straight, genuinely enjoying myself.

And he’s staring at me.

Rose is busy watching Finn and I don’t want to seem insane. I blink at Mr. Solo from across the huge field and can’t make out his face, but he keeps his arms crossed, jaw moving, and I _know _he’s looking right at me. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe he hates me.

So I shrink down to hide while I sip my soup. Oh _no_. What if he’s more violent than Rose thinks? What if he got a felony for aggressively double parking?

Our team apparently loses the game and Rose is bummed when we leave. I cast a couple more glances toward Mr. Solo and find he’s definitely not staring at me, and realize he could’ve been looking at a ton of other things in my vicinity. Trees. Birds. The like.

Rose laughs while we pack up. “What’s wrong? You’re being awful twitchy.”

I shrug and laugh, too. Nothing. I’m not about to admit to being insane in front of my new friend.


	3. ah

One day I come to school and find my locker full of stuff: binders, notebooks, even a green pencil case with a clear window. It spills out on the floor and I panic, worried I accidentally got into someone else’s locker by accident and they’ll think I’m stealing.

But there’s a note taped to the inner door in messy handwriting I can barely read: _Bonus points. _

I’m not in a position to refuse free stuff so I turn in a circle looking for the people who gifted it to me so I can thank them. I text Rose and she says she has no idea, and she asks Finn who also has no idea.

It’s great, though. Now I have a notebook for every class. Usually I recycle the same one and try to keep my notes separate but this is—

A notebook skids across the floor and hits the edge of the locker. I glance up from where I’m crouched picking everything up and see Mr. Solo glaring down at me like I just insulted his mother. He’s wearing one of those fisherman’s sweaters and has his hair in a bun, which looks… odd. Hipster-ish.

He pauses to investigate my locker, fingers tapping his coffee cup. I shrink back and consider crawling inside and never coming back out.

“Pick your shit up,” he snaps.

I watch him stalk off down the hallway and don’t move until he’s around the corner. I’m still not sure why he hates me so much.

—•—

No one will admit to giving me the free school supplies. Seems weird, and I’m half convinced it was Finn and Poe working together with Rose, but I just accept that I might never know.

I spend the next lunch period in the library organizing and labeling everything with my name, just in case I lose something. First comes my precious pencil case: I laminate my name and phone number on the back, so anyone who finds it knows who to call.

It’s a quiet afternoon and snow falls past the windows. It’s heaping up today; Rose says we’re supposed to get a foot before school lets out. I stare at the way it swirls in the wind before fading into the blinding white pile and when I turn back, find I’m being stared at, too.

My heart leaps in my throat. I take a sharp, involuntary breath, scared shitless, digging down into old evolution that says I should run.

But this isn’t the savannah and I’m not a caveman. The Alpha sitting across the room is dressed in another herringbone sweater, sipping a coffee, very much where he should be in civilized society. He’s not going to drag me to a cave by the hair. I’m not an Omega, so why would he?

Mr. Solo continues staring, unblinking. I quickly look away and try to busy myself with labeling. I’ve been flying under his radar the past two months and I’d _love _to keep doing so.

Maybe fifteen minutes pass. He keeps watching me silently from fifteen or twenty feet, sipping his coffee, and I tremble while I work. I’m not sure what he wants. Maybe Alphas like making people squirm. Maybe I smell bad. Maybe I was rude the first time we met and didn’t know it.

I don’t realize he’s approaching me until his shadow eclipses my small table. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips and I just stop moving completely. Holy shit. Please don’t eat me.

Mr. Solo sets his cup down and drums his long fingers on the desk. He reaches past me for the pencil case and turns it over, obviously looking at where I labeled it with my name and phone number. I hold my breath and stare at the gray surface of the table.

“What is this?”

His tone is accusatory, but not… mean? Firm. I hope he isn’t mad.

I pick at the edge of the table. “In case it gets lost.”

“…Ah. Right.”

His registration bracelet clicks against the table as he tosses the pencil case back where it was. He smells nice, like pine trees and something else I can’t place. It’s warm and spicy—must be an Alpha thing.

“Who gave these things to you?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I tried asking around… I think they wanted bonus points in chem.”

“Well they didn’t get them.” Mr. Solo turns over my notebook, inspecting it the same way. “You shouldn’t be putting your name and phone number all over things like this. It isn’t safe.”

“…But I don’t want to lose them.”

“I’m sure more will turn up if that happens.”

Maybe not. But I’m not allowed to decide because Mr. Solo takes it upon himself to rip the label off my English notebook, and he waits for me to do the same with everything else. He crumples the labels in his huge hand and puts them in his pocket.

I hesitate on my pencil case. When I risk peering up at Mr. Solo I meet his penetrating dark eyes, and he raises his brows. Expectant. I shiver.

“I really don’t want to lose this,” I mumble.

“Is it worth being _stalked_?”

“…Well—”

He grabs it and rips off the label. I avert my gaze back to the table, startling at the loud sound the case makes when it hits the cheap linoleum.

Mr. Solo picks up his coffee. “I’ll see you in class.”

I nod once, holding back tears I really don’t need to have. Once he’s gone I gather my stuff and go cry in the bathroom. I’m not used to gifts, and if I fucking lose any of them forever, I’ll never forgive him.

—•—

By the time I get to chemistry, I have a grip on myself. Sort of. I’m still sniffling and rubbing my eyes to hide the redness but not sobbing anymore. Which is good. I’m doing pretty well hiding it from Rose, too.

She goes off to advanced chem and I shuffle to my seat up front in my own class. Mr. Solo is already writing stuff on the white board and a couple others have found their own seats. Snow is piling up to the windowsills and I’m worried about getting home. Typical Colorado day, I guess.

I hardly sit before he turns, tossing his red marker on his desk. His sleeves are rolled back and I can see colorful tattoos twisting down his thick forearms to long, equally thick fingers. He’s huge but graceful somehow. Like a tiger.

“Set up the table for the experiment today,” he says, not looking at me.

I blink and turn to make sure he’s talking to me at all before I get up. “Which one…?”

“Page eighty-four. Don’t touch the liquid nitrogen. I’ll get it when everything else is out.”

Mr. Solo goes back to writing on the board about the ideal gas law. I slip away to the tables and set up for the experiment, that no one else can do because it involves handling liquid nitrogen which is apparently super cold stuff.

The rest of the class filters in while I work, though there isn’t a lot to do. I blow up a balloon and set out a Styrofoam picnic cooler, find goggles for everyone. The balloon is gonna shrink when it touches the nitrogen, then expand when it warms up. _Chemistry_.

“Can we make ice cream?” Poe calls out.

“Yeah—Dippin’ Dots!” Finn high-fives Poe, laughing up a storm. “Dude, that’d be _sick_.”

Mr. Solo throws a marker at Poe’s head and he narrowly dodges it. Muffled laughter follows our teacher as he strides to the locked room in the back where all the chemicals and stuff are kept.

Keys jangle. “Miss Niima.”

I perk up and scurry over. Everyone is still talking about making Dippin’ Dots and they don’t pay much attention as Mr. Solo opens the door and ushers me inside the dark closet.

My nose crinkles at the musty, stale air. I shuffle out of my teacher’s way as he follows me in and he reaches over me for something. The vague scent of cigarettes tracks the motion of his arm and I try to get out of his way again, afraid I’m blocking him.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

He grabs a pair of thick gloves and hands them to me. “Hold this for a second.”

I do. I wait nervously while he unlocks a steel cabinet and lugs forth a cylinder with all kinds of warning labels on it. He hefts it like it doesn’t weigh a pound and shuts the cabinet again.

“You’re gonna sit with the cooler after I pour in the nitrogen.” Mr. Solo turns the lock and hooks the keys on his belt loop. “Make sure Poe doesn’t go stick his hand in it or steal some to make ice cream.”

“What happens if you touch it?”

“It’s negative one-ninety-five Celsius so you’ll get a pretty nasty frostbite if it pools.”

“But it takes a minute because of uh…” I frown, snapping my fingers. “The Leiden… Leiden…”

“Leidenfrost effect.” He nods, smiling a little. Warmth curls in my lower belly. “Reading ahead?”

Yeah, because I’m terrified of answering a question wrong when he calls on me. I nod, grateful that the darkness might hide my blush, and hurriedly open the closet door. Embarrassing. Don’t let him think you’re a hard worker or he’ll be even more up your butt.

Mr. Solo follows with the cylinder. It attracts attention and people swarm to see, only backing off when he snaps at them to sit the fuck down. He points and I sit at the table with the cooler and balloon, trembling hands clasped in my lap. Maybe this will make him like me.

“Everybody put on goggles, gloves, and an apron,” Mr. Solo barks. He points at Poe. “_No_, you can’t touch the liquid nitrogen. _No_, we’re not making ice cream. I’m going to demonstrate the ideal gas law.”

Collective groans. Chairs scrape and people suit up, including me. He tells me to turn on the vents and open a window because apparently liquid nitrogen can asphyxiate you while it evaporates—with absolutely no warning. Odorless, colorless, and tasteless. Yikes.

Mr. Solo pours some into the Styrofoam cooler and sets the balloon inside. We all watch as it shrivels a couple seconds after contact, which is pretty cool to watch. He explains why but most of us aren’t listening and I can tell Poe wants to touch it.

The balloon is set out and slowly reinflates itself. Something, something, temperature. While Mr. Solo talks I watch the container, gazing at the liquid inside, kind of mesmerized. It’s _freezing_. I can feel how cold it is even though it’s nowhere near touching me. Wonder what happens if you eat it?

“Few years ago a girl drank a cocktail with liquid nitrogen,” Mr. Solo says, echoing my thoughts, “and had her entire stomach removed. Do not—” He snaps and points at Poe. “—touch it. Poe.” He snaps again. “Do not. Touch it.”

“I’m not!” Poe retorts. He crosses his arms, scowling.

“That’s gross,” offers Bazine.

“We’re doing two more experiments with it this week, so I need everyone to understand how dangerous it is. It’s not a toy.” Mr. Solo points at Finn. “_Finn. _It’s not a toy.”

After that everyone goes back to their desks. Mr. Solo dumps the liquid nitrogen out the window into the grass and leaves it open even though it’s cold as fuck out. I hunker down and wish I brought a thicker sweater. One without holes in the armpits.

He strides to the front of the classroom and rubs the back of his neck, hand passing over the brand on his throat. I wonder what felony he committed. Did he get his tattoos in prison? Did he _go _to prison? Why does he coach football and teach chemistry?

I stare until his dark eyes flicker to mine and catch me—then I turn beet red and hurry to look at my textbook instead. Stop staring, Rey. Stop. Staring.

Thankfully Mr. Solo doesn’t single me out. Class goes by and I flee into the hallway without attracting another glare, and I bump into Rose, already planning the next football game we’re going to see.


	4. oof

The first weird text message comes when I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling two nights after the demonstration in chem class. Finn and Poe didn’t manage to get their hands on the liquid nitrogen and we all survived the experiments. Somehow.

Rose has been texting me on and off and I’m trying to ignore whatever loud war movie Unkar is watching down the hall in the living room. I yawn and frown when I see the foreign phone number, then sit bolt upright. No one ever texts me except Rose, and Finn once when he wanted me to steal some of the nitrogen for him.

> **+1 (970) 728-3108  
**Miss Rey Niima.

I blink. Uh oh. Mr. Solo warned me this would happen. What if they figure out where I live? Will they come kill me? I just got here—I don’t want to be killed. I’ve barely had my fill of snow.

So I decide not to respond. I delete the message and wander the trailer to make sure no one is hanging around outside or looking through any of the dirty windows. Unkar is passed out in his chair but he’ll wake up the second I turn off his dumb movie.

Another text comes.

> **+1 (970) 728-3108  
**Shouldn’t put your name all over your shit, Miss Rey Niima.

…It couldn’t be.

I head to my bedroom, heart pounding, staring at the text. No way. He wouldn’t text me. It has to be some other freak who found one of the labels.

Still, maybe I should clarify. Just to see.

> **Today ** _6:08 PM_
> 
> are u a serial killer
> 
> Yes. Sometimes I teach chemistry on the side, but I mostly murder teenage girls who plaster their name and phone number on their belongings.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. I look around my bedroom and out the window again, half expecting him to be standing out there glaring at me.

If this is his version of a lesson—well, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t _mind _it.

I sit on the edge of my bed and try to think of something funny to say. My teacher is texting me. Why? Maybe he really will come kill me. Maybe it’s a ruse by someone else who knows I’m terrified of him. Could be Poe messing with me.

But I don’t know what to say and he doesn’t text me again. I pace my room and come up with a couple jokes about Finn stealing the liquid nitrogen but it all feels weird. I don’t want to outright say _hey there, teach_! because I bet that won’t go well.

Then my phone rings, and it’s him calling me. I drop it twice before I manage to answer.

“Hello?” I whisper.

“Miss Rey Niima.” His voice is low, husky, and I realize really quick that he’s drunk. He laughs and it makes my bones kinda tremble. _Deep _voice. “What are you doing right now?”

I’m gonna have a fucking stroke. I’m going to die.

I choke. “Just—Just sitting? At home?”

“Are you plastering your name on your new things?”

“No. No.” I shake my head and stand to pace more, palms sweating. “I didn’t do that.”

“Good girl,” he rumbles, and this time my bones feel like electricity zaps through them. “Make sure you don’t. And _don’t _tell anyone we talked. I’ve already got one felony and I’m only willing to commit one more.”

Then he hangs up.

—•—

That night I don’t sleep at all. I’m exhausted when I go to school the following morning, debating whether or not the conversation was a dream or a hallucination. Couldn’t be real. He wouldn’t call me. He’s an Alpha and an adult and I’m some kid from Arizona.

It’s okay, I’m just going crazy from the stress of moving and losing mom. I need to unwind. I should start collecting rocks again. I always liked collecting rocks. All kinds of new ones to find in Colorado. I can take a break from seeing football games with Rose and spend some time alone.

I go to my locker and meet Rose, who wants to have a sleepover, which throws a wrench in the ‘me time’ plan. Me being me, I agree.

“Mom and dad are out of town,” she says, excited. “They have a bunch of vodka that I just refill with water so we’re going to have so much fun. Do you drink a lot?”

“No—not really.” I shrug, eyes peeled for Mr. Solo. “But yeah, that sounds fun. You should invite Finn.”

Rose gasps and jumps up and down. “Really?! Do you mind? I can invite Poe but he has a thing with Jessika when she isn’t drooling all over Mister Solo.”

“You should. Might as well, right?”

She squeals and hugs me and runs off. I don’t mind. She really likes Finn and it’ll be fun to hang out with a group of people. Maybe more will come.

I don’t tell her about the phone call or texts from Mr. Solo. Rose is great but she gets excited about things and tends to blab to as many people as she can. I’ll figure it out on my own. Don’t need people knowing, and him getting in trouble, or Unkar knowing I’m talking to an Alpha.

I close my locker. _I’ve already got one felony and I only willing to commit one more_. Did he mean…

But he was drunk, so—drunk people say stupid things. Every word out of Unkar’s mouth is stupid.

It’s otherwise a quiet Friday. I careen between being excited and terrified and in denial until chemistry comes late in the day and I’m forced to confront Mr. Solo. Kind of. I’m not dumb enough to walk up and ask if he texted and called me last night.

I walk in to the classroom right before the bell rings so I can avoid him as much as possible. He’s slouched over in his chair, resting his face in his hand, so obviously hungover that it hits me hard: our conversation really happened. Holy _shit_. He really called me and told me I’m a good girl.

Mr. Solo doesn’t speak as I take my seat and stare down at my lap. He starts a movie on the White Board—_Ghostbusters_—then lays down, arms folded, KOed on the desk. He’s very hungover. He smells like cologne that he used to hide the smell of alcohol, which is an old trick from my mom and Unkar’s playbooks. I should stay away from booze.

But my teacher hardly speaks a word during class. He doesn’t even lift his head when the bell rings and we all move on, and I practically run out the door, relieved to be free of him. It had to have been a mistake. I’m sure he feels bad.

“Miss Niima.”

Fuck. I turn when he calls me and he only raises a hand to beckon me into the classroom. Fuck. Fuck. Oh no. Please no.

I take a couple hesitant steps up to his desk because I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t obey him. Please don’t say something that makes me have to admit it’s real. We can pretend it never happened.

Mr. Solo still doesn’t look up at me. He wraps his arms into a makeshift pillow and heaves a sigh.

“Don’t label your things again,” he says, voice muffled.

“I won’t. Sorry.” I rub my thumb over the spine of my textbook. “I got a text from a stranger so I think I learned my lesson.”

He offers a thumbs-up and nothing else. I scurry from the classroom and don’t breathe again until I’m halfway down the hall. Phew. Good. We’ll just pretend it never happened.

—•—

…I’m still thinking about it when I get to Rose’s house that same night.

Can’t stop. I’ve never had someone pay attention to me like that; never had a guy seek me out and text me or call me or talk to me like _that_. It’s seared in my brain and I want more. I wish I didn’t clam up and make him hang up—I wish I had more confidence.

But I still know it was a mistake on Mr. Solo’s part because he was drunk as hell, so I try not to put any stock into it. Mom used to drunk-dial guys all the time and she definitely regretted it the next morning.

Rose lives in a fancy two-story house that overlooks the mountains, with a curved staircase and big fireplace. I’m huddled on the couch debating texting Mr. Solo while she dances around in the firelight with Finn and a couple other people mill around with red cups, all tipsy, all loud. I haven’t even finished my first drink. Don’t want to get wasted and call him and embarrass myself.

I chew my nails and decide to try.

> **Today ** _7:59 PM_
> 
> should i delete ur number?

There. It’s done.

I stuff my phone in my pocket and get up for another drink. The kitchen floor is heated and there are a bunch of random snacks out on the island: chips, popcorn, soda, chocolate, pizza rolls. It’s like being in a fancy hotel when I hang out with Rose.

She wanders past holding Finn’s hand. They’re giggling—they’ve been making out all night—and I offer a slight wave. Have fun, kids.

My phone vibrates when I sit on the couch again, shoveling three pizza bites in my mouth. I wriggle it out of my back pocket and get that queasy excited high seeing his phone number pop up.

> **Today ** _7:59 PM_
> 
> should i delete ur number?   
_Read 8:23 PM_

> Yes.

Oh. Okay.

Crestfallen, I don’t even respond to Mr. Solo, just scroll into my contacts and history and delete everything. It makes sense. He doesn’t want to get in trouble and it was a mistake to begin with.

Then I toss my phone on the fancy glass coffee table and gulp down a couple burning mouthfuls of vodka and ginger ale, which is a really gross combination. I’m not upset. Now I won’t accidentally call him and embarrass myself, so that’s good.

I watch the fire as the other handful of people at Rose’s wander off together, eventually leaving me sitting there alone. I miss Arizona. I miss my mom. I miss having Beta teachers who didn’t drunk dial me.

My phone vibrates, buzzing across the glass. I huff into my cup but snatch it up to check.

> **Today ** _7:59 PM_
> 
> should i delete ur number?   
_Read 8:23 PM_
> 
> Yes.
> 
> _8:44 PM_
> 
> What are you wearing?

What am I… Why does he want to know?

> jeans and a blue sweater  
and white socks  
and i wore my vans here
> 
> Where are you? With Tico and Reynolds?
> 
> yes but they’re making out somewhere
> 
> That’s about par for the course. Are you with anyone?
> 
> no just sitting here drinking alone

Instead of another text, he calls me. I don’t want to answer but I also _really _do.

“I hope you’re drinking apple juice,” he snaps before I can say hello.

“I—Rose—”

“Who else is there? Where are her parents?”

“They’re out of town?” I squeak. “It’s just us, Finn, and four other people from her youth group.”

Mr. Solo growls and it triggers something in my hindbrain that screams _don’t make him angry. _He’s dangerous, even if he wears nice sweaters and drinks coffee like a regular person—he’s not one. Total wolf in sheep’s clothing, but even his disguise doesn’t do shit to hide what he is underneath.

He takes a few deep breaths, clears his throat, and softens his tone. I’m trembling anyway.

“Fine,” he says. “Be safe.” He pauses for a second, then snaps: “And stop drinking.”

Then he hangs up.

I dump out my drink and return to the couch, shivering, excited for reasons I can’t begin to explain or understand. No one cares that much about me—no one tells me to stop drinking or be safe or even cares about where the hell I am.

I lie down and stare at the ceiling. It’s nice to have someone care.


	5. huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REY NO

So school is pretty awkward on Monday.

Rose is oblivious to how uncomfortable I am because she got to second base with Finn, and I barely manage to pay attention to her story. I’m dreading seeing Mr. Solo in chemistry—he didn’t text or call me again all weekend so I figure he’s mad at me for drinking.

I worry throughout all my classes and consider making a break for it when the dreaded time comes. Unkar will find me if I run. Maybe. No he won’t. He doesn’t care. Mr. Solo is the only person who’s ever called to see where I am.

The classroom is already full of other students chatting when I arrive for chemistry. I take my seat up front and glance at my teacher’s broad back, one arm poised writing a chemical equation on the board. I hope he won’t throw his marker at me. He’s doing much better today; not super hungover and about to croak. That’s good. Does he drink a lot?

“Miss Niima.”

I straighten. “Sir?”

Mr. Solo motions toward the storage closet without turning to look at me. “Page eighty-eight. Get the supplies.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

God—make it _weirder_, Rey. I scramble to my feet and backtrack for my book when I forget it.

Once I’m in the cramped storage room I reach over and flick on the lights, squinting up at the rows of labeled beakers and cylinders and other assorted shit. This is something about the ideal gas law and I need…

I turn and sigh when I see it, up way too high. Cool, top shelf. Should be a stool around here somewhere.

As I’m hunting for one, the door opens and shuts behind me. I frown, then the lights flick off and my heart skips a beat. Who—?

“Hello?” I call dumbly.

The white light through the blinds is oddly blinding in the darkness. I squint and start to turn but someone comes up behind me and I stagger forward a step instead. At first I think it might be Poe messing with me but realize the person is way too tall—and has a very familiar cologne.

My eyes adjust as Mr. Solo reaches a big arm over my head to the shelf I can’t reach. He’s _right _behind me. He’s almost pushing me into the plastic shelves. I redden, pulse fluttering in my throat. Oh my god.

“I asked you to get supplies, Miss Niima, not take a nap.” He casually sets a hand on my waist, rummaging above my head. “I’ll have to get one of those cat collars with a bell so I don’t lose you.”

My heart seems to stop. I feel his fingers curl lightly just below my ribs, pressing into my skin like a clandestine greeting. He’s touching me. Why is he touching me? Am I high? I’m gonna have a stroke.

Mr. Solo tosses something in his hand, and his breath is in my hair. “Did you do what I told you to do?” I manage a nod, eyes wide, staring at the rows of beakers. “Good girl.”

Then he leaves, drawing his fingers along and tugging my shirt a little. He turns the light on and the door opens and shuts, but it takes a couple minutes before I leave. I’m trembling so bad my knees knock.

—•—

The words run through my head for the rest of the day: _Did you do what I told you to do? Good girl_.

Back home I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, occasionally fielding a text from Rose about what we’re going to do this coming weekend. Finn has another game she wants to go see then he wants us to go to a party after. I’m not sure I want to.

I’m stuck on Mr. Solo. I’m not sure why he touched me earlier. I mean, it’s obvious, but it seems impossible. Makes no sense. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life and it certainly wouldn’t happen to me of all people. Maybe Jessika. She’s pretty. She’s worth risking your career.

But it was just one touch and a couple texts. I’m reading too far into this.

Unkar is out so I make myself pasta for one. It’s a quiet night, snow falling past the dirty windows, and I pause by the one in the living room to watch. Pretty.

My phone buzzes. Chewing, head tilted while I watch the snowflakes, I lazily unlock the screen.

> **Today ** _5:13 PM_
> 
> What are you wearing?

The pasta sticks to the roof of my mouth. I cough, almost dropping the bowl in my haste to text him back. Why does he always ask that?

> pants and a shirt
> 
> Where are you?
> 
> …home?  
_Read 5:16 PM_

No response for a bit. I’m worried he’s mad I didn’t give him greater detail about my outfit.

> _5:56 PM_
> 
> i’m wearing pink sweatpants and a tank top  
and my hair is up  
_Delivered_
> 
> You’re alone?
> 
> yeah

Then Mr. Solo lapses into silence again. Confused, I give it an hour before I try texting him, because it sure seems like there’s something he wants to say. Is he nervous? Is it bad?

> _7:01 PM_
> 
> hi um r u mad at me  
_Delivered_

He doesn’t respond for a long time. I chew my nails down to the quick while I wait.

> _7:01 PM_
> 
> hi um r u mad at me  
_Read 7:50 PM_
> 
> _8:33 PM_
> 
> Yes.
> 
> why?
> 
> You know why.

I don’t know why. I have no idea.

Panicked, I text him back to let him know that I have no idea, and he doesn’t reply. The silence carries on until I fall asleep in bed around midnight, still worried about what I could’ve done to upset him.

—•—

During lunch the next day I decide to go to the library instead of eating with Rose. I’m going to double check my chem homework, just in case that was what Mr. Solo was referring to. I thought I did okay on the last assignment but maybe not.

It’s quiet and I’m alone save for the librarian up front. I wander to the back and set up shop on a table in the corner so no one bugs me and I don’t bug them. I open my textbook and new notebook courtesy of my mystery friend, and I’m halfway through the page when the door opens on the ramp across the library.

I do a double-take when I see a familiar face. Mr. Solo? Why is he here?

He chats with the librarian before making his way to the back where I’m sitting. I drag my backpack over to help hide myself but it’s no use—I’m discovered.

My teacher sets his messenger bag on the table and to my utter terror, decides to sit next to me. He smells nice and has his hair drawn up. Sleeves are rolled up. He’s wearing a tie today, something he hasn’t worn in a while. Awful dressy.

“Is that the homework due after lunch?” he asks.

“It’s already done, sir. I’m just checking it over.” I hastily flip over the notebook to show him. “I thought maybe I did bad on the last assignment and that was why you were mad at me.”

“You think so?”

I can’t even look at him. I glance up and see the librarian leave out the same door Mr. Solo just walked in through.

He grabs my chair by the seat and drags me next to him. The wood clatters and I jump but promptly freeze up once more when he drapes an arm over the back of my chair. He leans in and lowers his voice. His breath is on my ear, minty and cool.

“Would you like some help?”

I nod stiffly. Ok. Sure.

Mr. Solo holds out his hand expectantly for my pen. He’s crowding me and my chest feels tight and all I can do is stare at my homework as I hand him the pen. Guess this is how I die.

He glances toward the door and taps my pen on my notebook. “Fourteen is balanced wrong.”

Sounds about right. I nod.

The pen scratches my work out and he casually balances the equation while I silently watch. I’m afraid he’s going to _really _touch me and someone will see and we’ll get in trouble. His registration bracelet drags softly across the paper while he writes. I wonder where he went to college. Will I go?

Wasn’t he in the military, too? Wonder what he did there. How old is he? Thirty?

I shiver. _Thirty_. That’s so old. He can go wherever he wants; _do _whatever he wants. It must be nice.

Mr. Solo clicks his tongue. “Five isn’t quite right, either: you didn’t account for the hydrogen.”

“Sorry,” I blurt. My face burns. “Sir. Sorry.”

No clue why I keep calling him ‘sir,’ but could have to do with how terrifying he is. His tattoo on his forearm is colorful birds and animals with ‘SEMPER FI’ wound in. I’ve never gotten a good look at it. It’s pretty. I’d expect him to have one of those goofy tribal tattoos.

Mr. Solo finishes fixing the problem and offers me my pen. Fingertips brush my upper arm.

“Dameron is having a party after the game Friday,” he murmurs into my ear. His touch roams up my shoulder and he gathers my hair in his hand. “I’m sure Finn will be attending, and Miss Tico by proxy—but _you _won’t be going, Miss Niima. Will you?”

The way his voice inflects poses it as a command and not a request. I nod, trembling now as he gathers my hair over one shoulder.

“Good girl.” He gently loops his long fingers around my nape and an excited, anxious shiver runs down my spine into my belly. “We can find something else to do.”

_We_?

The door opens and Mr. Solo slips away. He gathers his things and doesn’t give me a second glance before he leaves, nodding to the librarian. She waves to me in turn and I barely manage to return the gesture.

Well. I think I’m in trouble.


	6. oh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheheh

On Wednesday I’m sitting around after finishing my experiment early in chemistry, playing one of those mindless games on my phone. Over near the tables people are laughing while they work and Mr. Solo is sitting at his desk a couple feet away from me, also on his phone. He hasn’t texted me since we talked in the library Monday and I’m too afraid to talk to him.

Rose isn’t happy that I’m not going to the party after the game Friday, but I’m pretty sure I can still go to the game itself. Should be fun. Can’t wait to freeze my ass off and slurp soup.

A text comes through over my game and my heart skips a beat.

> **Today ** _1:03 PM_
> 
> What are you playing?

I glance up. Mr. Solo isn’t looking at me. He’s watching Finn chase Poe with a beaker full of cold water, and seems bored. My fingers tremble as I text him back, all full of butterflies.

> candy crush
> 
> Have you tried Plague, Inc.? It’s a strategy game. Fun.
> 
> costs money  
but maybe i can get it
> 
> I’ll let you try it Friday.  
Meet me at the Cumby’s down the street after the game. Bring a toothbrush.

Bring a toothbrush? Why?

> why??  
_Read 1:10 PM_

This time I meet his dark eyes already watching me. He raises an eyebrow and drops his phone on the desk before getting up to stop Finn. I stare as he slips his hands in his pockets and snaps at Finn to sit the fuck down.

Bring a toothbrush? Are we cleaning something?

Class ends a couple minutes later. The bell goes off and I get my stuff to go to my last class of the day, wracking my brain for what he means by ‘bring a toothbrush.’ Is it a euphemism? Kind of a gross one if it is.

I’m in a rush to get out of here and away from my teacher’s long stares. He’s waiting near the door and grabs my arm before I walk out behind Jessika Pava, digging his fingers into my bicep in a silent command to stay where I am. I blink up at him, then the butterflies whip around when he closes the door behind her. We’re alone in the classroom.

He draws the blind over the window. Turns the lock. “I need your help with something.”

“Uh… I have…”

Mr. Solo strides to his desk and sits in his chair. It creaks. He watches me for a minute, hanging near the door with my books, then crooks his index finger.

“Come.”

I hesitate, checking over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching, but I can’t see through the window in the door. A cold sweat breaks out on my palms as I set my stuff down and shuffle up to his desk. He gives me an expectant look, leaned back in his chair and sprawled out. Mr. Solo motions again for me to approach, slowly beckoning.

I circle his desk and stop in front of him with my hands pressed against my outer thighs to wipe off the sweat. I don’t know what he wants. I can’t even look him in the eyes because I’m so anxious.

“I think something is wrong with my chair,” he says, “but I need more weight on it to be sure.” He pats his thighs and my stomach flips. “Sit.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I glance at the door once more before awkwardly turning to sit—but Mr. Solo grabs my hips and roughly drags me down into his lap.

The chair rolls a couple inches before he pulls us in under his desk with one hard yank. I have to be bright, embarrassingly red, shifting on his lap as I’m gently pinned between his hard chest and the hard edge of the desk and the unmistakable hardness under my butt. His hands settle on my hips to hold me in place and stop my confused squirming. He smells good like he always does but the faint scent of cigarettes makes my lips tingle.

“What do you think?” he murmurs in my ear. His hands smooth down my thighs, pushing down and slowly back up to my hips. “It doesn’t feel very supportive to me.”

All I can manage is a trembling shrug. I’m in my teacher’s lap and I’m pretty sure he has a boner and oh my god someone help me.

Mr. Solo nuzzles my temple, casually reaching over to open a drawer. His other hand brazenly pushes up the front of my shirt and my eyes about bug out of my skull. What is he doing—what is he—

“While I have you here…” He takes out my homework and sets it out in front of us, then shuts the drawer. “Let’s review your homework.”

I bite hard on my lower lip when he touches my boob. I’m staring at the door, terrified someone will walk in, and he plucks one of his red pens from the coffee mug in the front corner of his desk. He’s groping me. His fingers worm under the hem of my bra and I jerk back as he brushes my nipple.

He hugs me tight enough to draw a whimper, breath in my hair. “You only got two wrong. Nothing to worry about.”

“S-Sir,” I breathe, stammering hard. I push into his chest trying to escape him teasing my nipple in lazy circles.

“Number eight was close, but you missed the hydrogen again.”

The paper swims before me as he corrects my mistake with a couple sharp strokes of his pen. I nod, heat pooling in my belly as his big hand paws around under my shirt to move my bra up and out of the way. He cups my boob in his palm, hot and rough, and I forget how to breathe. I’ve never felt a dick before and his feels big, maybe because he’s an Alpha. Please don’t put it in me.

“And three was incorrect, too.” Mr. Solo rests his cheek against the side of my head and corrects that, too, still gently playing with my boob under my shirt. His fingertips stroke to my nipple and pinch lightly. “Slow down a little while you do your homework, Miss Niima.”

“Okay.” I nod quick. Holy shit. He’s groping me, and it feels kind of good, and I don’t totally hate it, even if it’s a little confusing. My emotions are so scattered that I can’t begin to decide which ones are real.

“If you keep making silly mistakes—I’m going to have to punish you.”

This time the pinch is sharper and makes me squirm in his lap. Ow. I wince, shaking my head, and he just _nods_.

“I am,” he coos, lowering his voice. He drops his pen and then his hand is around my throat, not choking me, but carrying a thinly veiled threat. It makes my pulse race. “But you’re going to like the way I punish you.”

Then I’m shoved from his lap to the floor. I’m all flustered and discombobulated from what just happened and barely notice how I hit my shoulder, but I do notice him smirking at me. He leans back in his chair and raises his eyebrows, resting an elbow on his desk and his temple on his fist.

“Don’t forget your toothbrush Friday.”

Dizzy and a little scared, I scramble to my feet and make a break for it. I grab my things and don’t take a deep breath until I’m alone in the bathroom, struggling to fix my bra and make sense of what just happened.


	7. ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE TENSION HAAAHAHAHA

Rose still isn’t happy that I’m not going to the party after the game. She whines and wheedles but I just shrug and tell her I’m grounded. I’m more afraid of upsetting Mr. Solo than her. He’s fucking terrifying.

I remember my toothbrush and hide it in my coat while I watch the game next to Rose. She points Finn out sixty times and claps whenever he runs in the right direction or throws the ball. My eyes wander everywhere except to my giant teacher watching me from the other side of the field, arms folded, jaw working as he chews his gum. Staring.

He hasn’t texted me since the incident at his desk and I’m relieved. A couple times I considered blowing him off and saying Rose _dragged _me to the party; insisting there’s no way I could go hang out at his house. But Mr. Solo is terrifying—all Alpha, and well aware of it. You don’t say ‘no’ to Alphas.

So I sit and wait and dread walking down the block to the Cumby’s where he’ll pick me and my toothbrush up. It’s freezing. I hope I don’t have to wait long.

We win the game and Rose hurries off to meet Finn, hugging me first and promising to stay safe. She runs across the wet field to him and I hover near the bleachers in a shadow cast by the stadium lights. It’s supposed to snow tonight.

Mr. Solo is talking to another coach, headset around his neck. He nods and smiles and rubs his mouth and if it weren’t for the steel registration bracelet, I’d think he might be a nice, normal guy. His breath curls in the air when he laughs, pointing to one of the players walking off the field.

I should start walking. I look over my shoulder into the thick crowd and when I look back, he’s staring at me. His jaw shifts as he chews and he raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘what are you still doing here?’

I take a couple steps back. Mr. Solo stares at me up until I turn around and rush into the crowd.

—•—

Snow starts falling just as I reach Cumby’s. Shivering, I shelter under the corner of the building, back near the garbage cans where I hope no one will see me.

Fucking Colorado. Fucking snow. Why am I doing this? This is stupid.

I pace to keep warm, hands shoved under my armpits, and about ten minutes pass before a big gray SUV rolls up near the air station. I hesitate, squinting at the driver—then he rolls down his window and motions for me to hurry up.

My heart hammers as I skirt the rumbling front end of the SUV and climb in the passenger seat. It’s warm and smells like cologne and something else that makes my lips and throat tingle. Pheromones?

Mr. Solo shifts the SUV into reverse and puts a hand on the back of my headrest as he backs up. I flex my fingers and squeeze them to wring out the cold.

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” he asks.

“No. No one asked.”

He shifts into drive again and casually grabs my conjoined hands in one of his. His palm is _really _hot but it feels great so I don’t complain or try to pull away. I go perfectly still and let him squeeze my hands as he pulls out of the parking lot. I’m really doing this. Where are we going?

I swallow. “Um… where exactly are we going?”

“My house.”

Oh. Okay. Okay. I nod, eyes widening as I stare at my lap. His house. Where else would we go?

Mr. Solo comes to a stop at a red light. It spills across our hands like blood.

“Parties are dangerous for girls like you,” he says. I nod, not sure what he means or what I should say, and he keeps going. “Poe and Finn are good kids but I don’t trust any other teenage boys not to take advantage.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

He’s quiet for a minute. I don’t get what he means by ‘girls like you.’ I don’t think anyone in my school would _take advantage _and get away with it. Finn and Poe are great; they wouldn’t let that happen.

Does he think I’m an Omega? I’m not. They’re all pretty much gone now.

“I’m not…” I hesitate, staring at his huge hand engulfing both of mine. “I’m not… like you.”

“I’m aware.”

“Oh. Okay.” I glance up at his dark eyes watching the road. “I’m just not an Omega.”

Mr. Solo looks down at me and my stomach flips. Sometimes I think he might eat me.

“I’m aware,” he repeats. He searches my face like he’s looking for a stray shadow, and gently squeezes my hands. “But you remind me of them.”

I’m not sure what to make of that. I remind him of Omegas—not sure how. Maybe it’s because he scares the shit out of me and I have a hard time looking him in the eyes. Alphas make everyone nervous, though.

We drive for about fifteen minutes before we come to his house down a quiet side road. It’s small and set apart from the others back towards the woods, now covered in a thin layer of snow from the roof to the fenced-in yard. Mr. Solo pulls into his driveway and my anxiety reaches new heights.

He gets out and comes around to open my door. I hop down and follow him to his red front door, he unlocks it, and I’m ushered inside under his arm. It’s dark and cool inside. I shiver as my teacher closes the door and turns the lock.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks.

Sore. “It’s fine.”

Mr. Solo strides past me to flick on the lights. His living room has matching furniture and not a carpet in sight. Framed pictures of landscapes dot the walls but he doesn’t have a single picture of a person anywhere. It’s nice. Looks like it’s out of an ad.

He takes off his coat and holds out his hand for mine. I hang there awkwardly as he hangs them up in the closet, noting how weirdly cold it is in his house. Alphas run hot. That could be why.

“Did you bring your toothbrush?”

“Yeah, it’s in my coat.”

He picks around in the inner pockets and finds it. Mr. Solo motions for me to follow him upstairs and I do, cold and confused and mildly terrified.

He seems too big for the house; too big for everything. He turns on the hallway light and leads me to a bathroom towards the end, where he turns on the light and casually drops my toothbrush next to his in a stainless steel cup.

I stare at it for a full couple seconds before I slowly look up at him. Mr. Solo turns off the light.

“My bedroom is this way.”

We leave the bathroom. Wooden, I follow him to an open door on the other end of the hall, into a cold bedroom with hardwood floors that creak lightly from my weight. It smells nice but the _other _scent is strong here, enough to make my mouth go dry and heart pick up a quicker beat. There’s a big bed in the middle of the room and it’s neatly made.

I stand there in the doorway and don’t move a muscle. Mr. Solo is right behind me. I can feel his body heat and I can’t say it’s not a little exciting.

“Would you like something warm to wear?”

I nod once. He goes to his closet and I can’t help but notice some blankets on the floor—maybe pillows?—and I realize with a nervous twinge that’s it’s _nesting_, another thing demi-humans do. I thought Omegas usually did it, though. Maybe he’s lonely. He has to be lonely with all the Omegas gone.

My teacher takes out a blue hoodie with the Marine insignia on the front. He tugs it over my head and it swims down toward my knees like a dress. It’s warm and thick and well-worn, and it smells faintly of cigarettes and cologne. Manly.

He picks lint off my shoulder. I’m staring at his chest, frozen. Don’t move. Don’t move.

“You’re from Arizona?” he asks. I nod. “I was stationed there for a while. Fort Huachuca. Army installation.” He keeps picking off lint. “That was around when I was discharged.”

I’m more curious about his felony but too afraid to ask. I just keep nodding.

Mr. Solo brushes my shoulder with his fingertips. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s—it’s okay.”

“It isn’t.” He skates down my arm to my hand hanging at my side and gently folds my entire fist in his warm palm. “I’m not entirely sure what I want to do with you, Miss Niima. My instincts are out of practice and confused.”

Not sure how that led to him pushing me to the floor but okay. I shrug helplessly.

“Are you nervous?”

I go back to nodding. Yup. Can’t feel my fingertips and my whole body is trembling. He’s turning my hand over in both of his and it’s scary seeing how _big _he is in comparison to me. He can snap my fingers like twigs. Not that he will. Maybe.

Mr. Solo squeezes my hand so it stops shaking. His voice is lower and gentler when he speaks. It’s soothing.

“Have you ever been alone with a boy?”

I shake my head, hoping he’ll have mercy on me. I’m not sure what he’s going to do but I’m pretty sure I’ll be too terrified to refuse. It’s not that he’s ugly or gross or anything: I just feel very small and very vulnerable and I don’t think I’m ready for… that.

He nuzzles the top of my head and my knees wobble. I think he’ll kill me if we have sex.

“Good girl,” Mr. Solo murmurs, and I shiver. “You don’t need to be nervous. I’ll only punish you if you misbehave.”

Okay. Well. I won’t do that.

I’m led from the bedroom downstairs to the living room. Relieved, I finally take a breath when he walks out to the kitchen to get us drinks. Thank god. I’m thirsty and can’t stop fucking shaking.

Am I supposed to sleep here? That’s the implication and if _It’s Always Sunny _taught me anything, it’s the importance of the implication.

Mr. Solo comes back with two cans of beer instead of the water I was expecting. He hands me one and sets the other down on the coffee table before he goes back upstairs to get changed, leaving me staring at the brown can. Okay. This is alcohol and he… he said I shouldn’t drink.

I hate beer, too. Am I supposed to drink this? Is this a test? Is he going to get me drunk and stick his _thing _in me? I’ll die. I’ll literally die.

He’s gone for a couple minutes. When he comes back he’s wearing sweatpants and a black shirt with no sleeves. I try not to stare. I should’ve opened my beer.

“Is anyone expecting you home?” Mr. Solo sits right next to me and turns on the TV.

“N-No.”

“Good. You’ll stay here.”

I just nod. Okay. Guess I will.

He cracks both beers and takes a long drink of his. I’m handed mine and take a much smaller sip.

Mr. Solo scrolls through the channels and leans back, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me with him. He grabs a blanket from the arm of the couch and spreads it out across our laps, then resumes flipping through channels.

He’s warm. Hot. My eyes flicker to where his thigh is pressed against mine and linger there.

“You can drink,” he says. His fingers brush along my bicep. “Relax.”

“You said I shouldn’t drink.”

He laughs a little and pats my upper arm. I hesitate but take another sip of my beer. What? He _did. _

“It’s safe to drink sometimes with me. Just don’t do it when I’m not around. It makes me worry.”

Worry? I stare at the beer in my hands and his arm feels even heavier around my shoulders. It’s almost like a hug, and I’m not used to them, or anyone worrying about me.

I think I drink about half the can before I doze off. We’re watching something animated.


	8. so

When I wake up, my head is in Mr. Solo’s lap, resting on a pillow. I blink at the movie we’re watching and shiver at the sensation of his long fingers combing through my hair. Whoops. Probably wasn’t supposed to pass out after half a can of beer.

I swallow, wincing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He moves his arm to let me sit up and I rub my eyes. Another animated movie—_Moana_? He doesn’t seem like the type to watch Disney stuff.

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. He studies me for a minute before his eyes roam to the TV. “I figured you needed the sleep.”

I did, honestly. I always do. Never sleep enough. Didn’t when I lived with mom before she died—always worried one of her boyfriends would stumble his way down the hall to my bedroom.

Mr. Solo presses his lips together and stares at the movie. He rubs his mouth. I can tell he’s somewhere else, sifting through old memories, and it’s kind of sad to watch. Very _angsty_. That’s a German word.

He gets up. “Omegas didn’t watch violent movies. Lots of this… shit.” He gestures toward _Moana _(which, addendum, is a fantastic movie) and heads out to the kitchen. “They were pretty fragile. Liked soft things, sweet food, being warm. They ran a little cold—ninety-six to Alpha’s hundred.”

Being Beta, I’m right in the middle of that. I look at my hands while he does stuff in the kitchen, and he comes back with a plate of food. Lasagna. A glass of water I’ve been needing for a couple hours.

I’m not very hungry but I feel obligated to eat, so I do. It’s good; not like the shit mom used to make. Mr. Solo drinks a beer and puts an arm around my shoulders and we watch the movie quietly. I don’t know what to say about the Omega stuff. Sorry? That sucks? If my body goes down to 96 degrees Fahrenheit I think that’s a medical emergency?

After I’m done he sets the plate on the coffee table and guides me down to lay my head in his lap again. Fingers brush through my hair. It’s a weird juxtaposition to him shoving me to the floor the other day, but I’m not complaining. It feels nice.

I don’t doze off again, and we move to the next Disney movie. Mr. Solo drinks a couple beers and I manage to finish mine, which only gives me a slight buzz. I’m more aware of the Alpha scent—not offensive or anything, but strong and woodsy. It makes my mouth dry, skin prickling. Wonder what that was like for Omegas?

Never met one. Probably never will.

“Are you comfortable?”

His voice is raspy, rough from being quiet for almost an hour. I nod. Yes. Much more comfortable than I have been since mom died.

Mr. Solo runs his hand down my upper arm. He squeezes.

“Not too hot?”

“No, I’m okay.” I readjust a little. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Sure.”

It’s nice that he asks. _Are you comfortable? _I think I can forgive him for pushing me.

When the movie ends, he murmurs that it’s time to get up. Yawning, I do as I’m told, and he turns off the television and folds the blanket. I’m much more relaxed, partly due to the beer.

I look up and find Mr. Solo already looking down at me. My heart skips a beat. He’s staring. Really staring. His dark eyes search mine.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Rey?”

I shake my head. I’m gonna puke. Not because he’s gross: I’m just so anxious that my whole face is tingling and that happens before I puke.

He cups my jaw in one rough palm, firm, as if I’d ever run away, and seems like he’s debating for another second. Then his jaw shifts and he leans down—and I’m being kissed for the first time _ever_.

His lips are softer than his hands. I taste beer and something else that makes my spine tingle, but I can’t quite place it. Alpha stuff maybe. His mouth moves against mine for a couple seconds, tongue tracing the seam of my lips, then he stops.

Mr. Solo cups the back of my head and kisses the top. “I want to show you something.”

I’m still spinning from being kissed so I just nod numbly and follow him upstairs. He just kissed me. Holy _shit. _My chem teacher just kissed me.

We walk down the hall to his bedroom and he closes the door behind us. I cross my arms and hunch my shoulders but he touches my arm, prompting me to turn and awkwardly drop my arms. His kisses me again, tongue in my mouth and I panic, grasping the front of his shirt, afraid I’m doing it wrong. Should’ve read a book—Cosmo—watched a movie.

He steps, and I move with him, teetering back towards the closet. He’s _very _big and _very _warm and even if I wanted him to stop, I don’t think he could. It’s like he’s more a force of nature than a human man. Alphas kinda are.

I never thought I’d meet one. Definitely wouldn’t think I’d be interesting enough to _attract _one—but I don’t think he’s super intrigued with my personality. He says I remind him of an Omega, but if that means he cares… I’ll take it. It’s nice having someone care.

My lips throb when Mr. Solo pauses to slide open the closet door behind me. It’s a demi-human thing, even if it has a bit of a serial killer vibe to it, so the closet full of blankets and pillows doesn’t freak me out too much. I peer inside and my heart races. I hope I can be what he wants me to be.

It’s not so bad. Dark, but warm and tight, like a cave. A womb. I shuffle inside and find all kinds of things littering the floor in an organized chaos, piled in one corner and the other, obviously so an Omega can use it to do her thing. Or his.

Doesn’t do anything for me. It’s an alien world and I instinctively know I don’t belong in it: the animalistic overtones, the way his scent makes me mildly anxious. I don’t belong here.

But I’m going to do what I always do and carve out my own space anyway. 

Mr. Solo looms over me like he does in class while I rearrange the pillows and blankets. He’s silent but I feel his eyes drilling into the back of my head and I’m still fucking terrified of him so I don’t look. This is fine. Just doing demi-human stuff with my teacher. Still don’t know the felony he was arrested for.

“Lie down in the corner.”

I freeze, then scurry to the corner and do as I’m told. He ducks into the closet and kneels beside me, rearranging blankets around me until I’m tucked in like I’m an incubating egg. His face is blank while he works but not bored. He’s elsewhere again.

Mr. Solo covers me so just my head peeks out. He leans back and cocks his head to examine his handiwork, then kisses me, brushing his lips against mine. I crane closer. My nails dig into my palms.

He squeezes my shoulder and whispers in my ear, low and soft. “I want you to stay here tonight, Rey. If you need something—come get me. Please.”

“What if you’re asleep?” I mumble.

“I don’t mind.” He kisses my cheek. “Making sure you’re taken care of is very important to me.”

Well. That’s a real one-eighty. Not that I mind—I’m not complaining. I nod shyly and swear he purrs before he gets up.

I’m warm and comfortable. Cared for. Cared about. I close my eyes and he shuts the door most of the way, plunging me into darkness with a thin beam of moonlight. I think there’s a metaphor in there but I’ve always been more a pragmatist than a romantic; don’t wax poetic like mom used to. Don’t let myself get swept up.

But I’m full and warm and—_probably_—safe. Usually I’m lucky to get one of those things at a time. Maybe that’s my brand of romantic.


	9. fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extending this fic WHOOPS

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up to use the bathroom but I figure that’s not something I need Mr. Solo’s help with. I squirm free of the blankets and carefully open the closet door, staying as quiet as possible, then slip from the room and down the hall. He’s fast asleep on his side.

I’m sleeping better than I thought I would. It’s a little weird and intimidating but not too bad.

After I’m done in the bathroom I decide to go down to the kitchen for a glass of water. I hesitate in the dark hallway, glancing toward his bedroom. He said it’s important to him that I get him if I need something… but it’s just water. Seems rude to wake Mr. Solo up out of a dead sleep for water.

So I make my way down the creaky stairs and shuffle to the kitchen to get it myself. He has one of those fancy fridges with a door dispenser—I poke the lever and smile at the cold jet of water on my hand. Neat. Rose has one at her house, too.

“Something wrong?”

I whip around at the rough voice, grabbing the edge of the counter as my heart practically bursts from my chest. Mr. Solo is standing in the kitchen doorway scratching his head, watching me with his eyebrows raised. Sleepy. He has bedhead.

I shrug, sheepish. “Just came to get water.”

“You didn’t get me up.”

“Um…” I wring my hands and shrug again as he meanders towards me. “It just seemed rude.”

My teacher grunts and opens a cabinet for a glass. He fills it and hands it to me and I drink it as fast as I can. It’s weird standing in his kitchen half naked, him sleepy and kind of vulnerable with me wide awake and _definitely _vulnerable. Domestic. Weird.

He watches me drink and puts the cup in the dishwasher when I’m done. I start to cross my arms but he snaps his fingers and holds out his hand, so I awkwardly take it, hoping I’m not sweating or anything. My skin tingles where it brushes his as he leads me up the incriminating creaky stairs again. His palm is hot.

“Sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t want to be annoying.”

Mr. Solo doesn’t say anything. He brings me into the bedroom and instead of going to the closet, gently tugs me up to his bed. My heart hammers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothes, obviously noticing my trepidation. SAT word. “But I’m going to punish you for disobeying me.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I know.” He looms behind me, firmly pushing my shoulder to bend me over the edge of the bed. Doesn’t sound mad but I’m scared he’s mad. “This is just to reinforce what I told you, Rey.”

Now my heart leaps in my throat. My cheek is pressed to the sheets, rough and still warm, thick with the scent that makes my hindbrain scream at me to run. Mr. Solo stands right behind me and slides his hands down my sides to the hem of my pants.

Fingers hook over the edge. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax, baby.”

_Baby_. I shift a little at the pet name and swallow hard, determined to be what he wants me to be. Okay. Relax. He made you dinner.

So I stifle my nervous breaths as he pulls my pants and underwear down to my knees, which then drop to the floor, and I fist the sheets when his bare hand settles on my lower back. Might throw up. Not sure yet. Too nervous to be sure of anything except the cold sting of his registration bracelet on my skin.

His big palm wanders down to cup my butt. He squeezes, and slaps me lightly. Maybe that’s all he’s going to do. I’m pretty sure I’ll get a bruise if he—

I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth when he suddenly _spanks _me, hard enough to make my whole body jerk forward. Pain prickles up the small of my back and down my thighs; tears well up before I can stop them. I’m strangely overwhelmed in that split second and can’t stop a stifled whimper.

He rubs the spot gently and slaps me again. I gnaw on my fist for the third one, flinching—does he know how fucking huge his hands are?—and he strokes my hair for a minute before the next one.

The pain and humiliation of being bent over his bed makes my pulse race and my blood pump, and I figure out after the fifth slap that I like it. Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s a little fucked up, but it’s a little hot that he can cup half my ass in one hand; probably my entire throat. Oof. Why is that hot? My stomach tightens and I squirm on the edge of the bed, confused by how turned on I’m getting.

Mr. Solo shifts his stance so he’s standing behind me again. I practically stop breathing when he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pushes his groin against my butt, leaning over me to whisper in my ear. I can feel… _it. _His dick. I freeze.

“You’re being awfully squirmy, Miss Niima. Do you _like _being punished?”

I shake my head and he clicks his tongue. He could crush me. He’s kind of crushing me right now, and I feel small and vulnerable but safe.

“I think I’ll spend the rest of the night with you to make sure you don’t misbehave again.” His fingers creep into my hair and tug gently. “Doesn’t that seem like a good idea?”

I nod, fist still in my mouth. Yes.

Mr. Solo straightens and pulls up my pants. He pats my hip and I manage to straighten too, legs trembling—then he wraps an arm around my middle and lifts me off the ground. Just like that. Like I’m a sack of feathers.

My eyes bug and I huff but he has me across the room to the closet before I can protest. He drops me in the pile of blankets and closes the door most of the way behind himself, and I catch him smiling when I roll over on my back, flustered.

“Sorry,” he says with a subtle shrug. He crouches, dark eyes on me as he sinks onto all fours. “Can’t help myself.”

I stare as he crawls forward and flop on my back as he comes to loom over me, one hand on either side of my head, kneeling between my thighs. He searches my face for a full minute before he breaks into another smile. Yes. You terrify me.

“Takes me back,” he murmurs. He cradles my cheek and stares right through me. “I missed when they would look at me like this. You would be a very ideal Omega, you know.”

“Really?” I sound more pathetic than I want to.

“Mhm. I knew it the day we met.” His tongue roams inside his cheek and he raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t always your favorite teacher. I used to work for a pharmaceutical company. Did some… experimental research. You would’ve been _perfect_.”

“Really?” I repeat, somehow more pathetic. Experiments. That’s cool. “What kind of experiments did you do?”

Mr. Solo sighs and cranes his neck to kiss me. He lingers and I arch up into it, grasping the front of his shirt. His tongue slips in my mouth and he lilts into a pained groan, lowering on his forearm to ease some of his weight on me. Yes yes yes. Kiss me.

He rolls my lower lip through his teeth. “You would’ve been such a good girl for me. Wouldn’t you?” I nod and he sighs heavily again, kissing a trail along my jaw. “Good girl.”

My stomach does a flip when he pulls a blanket over us and adjusts his hips between my legs. I feel him again, hard and hot and _big_, then he’s moving against me in the quiet darkness and my mouth goes dry.

Fingers tangle in my hair and he kisses the side of my head, roughly shoving forward and grinding his hips into mine. I have to grab his broad back and I stare over his shoulder, squirming when he paws my legs up on his hips so he’s rubbing _right _against me. Holy shit—am I supposed to do something? Do I just lay here until he tells me what to do?

“Have you ever done this?” he whispers. I shake my head and he groans. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to take these things away from you—”

Mr. Solo rolls off me onto his back, rubbing his face in both hands. He keeps them there and takes a long, shuddering breath.

We’re quiet for a while. I’m a little hot and bothered but don’t quite have the confidence to get on top of him—and I have a feeling that isn’t what he wants, even if it’s what he just did. He feels guilty. I _am _a teenager, and he _is _my teacher.

Then he laughs bitterly. His hands fall away and wander under the covers, maybe to adjust his dick. I watch curiously.

“Went to Dartmouth,” he mutters. He winces. “And here I am.”

“It didn’t… hurt,” I offer, hoping it will help.

“I know. Betas have pheromones, too, even if they aren’t very strong.”

My cheeks burn and he breaks into another crooked smile. Well that’s embarrassing.

“Doesn’t change anything. I’m still molesting you.” He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, then rolls his neck. “Taking away your first sexual experiences because I’m selfish and _so _fucking horny. Keep getting caught up in the nostalgia.”

I’m not sure what to say, and we lapse into silence once more. I’m pretty flustered by the way he’s talking: _first sexual experiences, molesting, horny._ It doesn’t seem like he’s molesting me.

I toy with the edge of the blue blanket, licking my lips, and close my eyes when I find the confidence to talk.

“I—I mean, I liked it.” Hurry up hurry up— “It felt good.”

“I know, baby.” A warm hand squeezes my foot. “I’m glad.”

Ugh. Eyes still closed, so anxious I think I really will throw up, I push on.

“I’ve done it myself before,” I manage.

“Done what? Come?”

“Yes.” I nod fast and more spills out before I can stop myself. “My mom always had a lot of p-porn around the house for customers and I accidentally saw some of them when I was little so I learned how to…” I hesitate, chest tight. “How to do it a long time ago.”

There. That’s it. I’ll never speak again. Maybe I can shove those memories back where they belong.

But he just gets quieter. Mr. Solo squeezes my foot again and I risk peeking out of one eye, only to find him watching me with that pitying frown the social workers give me. What? It’s porn. Not like she was having me help her.

His jaw shifts. “I’m sorry, Rey.”

_Ugh. _I pull the blanket over my head and wish I could disappear. I hate that look. The sympathy. Normally I like when people care; I like being coddled, but I hate that ‘oh, look at the poor damaged little girl.’

I roll over on my stomach to hide my face in the blankets. Mr. Solo massages my calf for a couple minutes but leaves anyway—so then I try not to cry for the rest of the night. Shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve told him I’ve humped _dozens _of guys.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I muffle my crying into the blankets when I can’t hold it back anymore. My mom was right: I’m fucking stupid.


	10. hah

Saturday morning comes and Mr. Solo wakes me up for breakfast. I’m embarrassed and avoid his eyes as I scurry to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee. Feel like I threw a temper tantrum last night. Maybe projected. I probably looked like an idiot.

He leaves me clothes of his to change into, which are so baggy that I have to roll up the cuffs and knot the back of the long sleeved shirt. I run my fingers through my hair to get the knots out before I go downstairs to face the music. I’ll have to look him in the eyes at some point, I guess.

Breakfast is already out on the table: he made me an omelet, and I mumble a thank you. He nods and doesn’t say anything while he finishes making his, and I wait until he sitting before I pick up my fork and knife. It’s rude to eat first. I think.

Mr. Solo casually reaches across the table and drags my plate over. I watch as he cuts up the omelet into smaller pieces. Okay. That’s… fine.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Fine. I guess.”

He’s dressed like he’s going to work. Even wearing shoes. I curl my bare toes on the chair rung.

“I’ll bring you home after we eat,” he says. The knife and fork scrape on the plate. “Will your uncle be home?”

“I don’t think so but…”

“I’ll drop you off a few blocks away.”

I nod and quietly accept the plate when he pushes it back. That makes sense. Wouldn’t want anyone to see me getting out of his car.

We eat in relative silence. It’s good, like I figured it would be, but I’m also not a picky eater, so… maybe it’s not. I eat it all regardless and drink the juice he set out for me, then wait because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Clean up? Leave?

I don’t have to wait long: Mr. Solo finishes and gathers our dishes without a word within a couple minutes of me being done. I look around his kitchen while he rinses the dishes off—it’s nice. Clean. Not a lot of those tchotchke things like in in the Tico house. White and gray and stainless steel. He doesn’t strike me as a big decorator.

Everything about his house feels like it’s be arranged just-so. It’s like he’s staging it for an HGTV show.

“How was the food?”

I glance up at his back. He’s loading the dishwasher.

“Great,” I croak, then clear my throat. “It was great, thanks. Beats anything I would make.”

“Do you cook a lot?”

“I wouldn’t call it _cooking_, but I know how to make something out of nothing.”

“Ah.” He nods as he sets the dishwasher. “Do you think you’d like it if you had the chance to do it for fun instead of out of necessity?”

“Um… maybe. I’m not sure.”

I’ve never been able to consider hobbies or fun things to do except trying to scrounge whatever food I find into something edible. I’m not skinny because I want to be, and I’ve never had free time like I do now. Before I was always busy keeping mom alive after she drank too much and selling scrap to make ends meet. Hobbies are a foreign concept to me.

Mr. Solo wipes his hands, turning to face me. He studies me for a long minute and my pulse quickens. Please don’t make me go home. Please. Please.

“Usually I take time on Sundays to make food for the week. If you’d like to help, I can show you some things and you’re more than welcome to take whatever you’d like home.”

Whatever? I can have food premade and not have to harass Unkar for money? That would be _great_. Fantastic. The best thing that’s happened since I came to this miserable icy wasteland.

I shrug, nodding. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“What about your clothes?”

“…What about them?” I echo.

Mr. Solo crosses his arms. Something is shifting—I get the excited suspicion that he’s trying to twist this _thing _so it’s palpable; so he doesn’t have to feel bad. He doesn’t want to get rid of me.

“We shouldn’t go out in public together,” he says, rubbing his jaw and looking past me. “I’ll look online.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“If anyone asks, they’re from some relative. Not me. Understood?”

I nod fast. Sure.

He watches me for another minute and heaves a sigh. Snow falls past the glass door and the window over the sink, already blanketing the ground about an inch thick. Still hate snow.

Mr. Solo runs his hand around the back of his neck, twisting it from side to side and closing his eyes.

“I suppose you can do some homework this afternoon. No point in bringing you home and then back again tomorrow.”

“I didn’t bring my book?”

“I have one upstairs in the office.”

He motions for me to follow so I hop up and do so. Didn’t think I’d be doing homework today but okay. Usually I rush to do it Sunday night and Rose distracts me the entire time.

Mr. Solo opens the other room upstairs, and I hover by the door and wait. There’s a big desk under the window and it’s crammed with bookshelves and loose papers and the weird baubles I haven’t seen in the rest of the house: shrunken heads, more framed meme pictures, and some framed paintings. Messy. I’m surprised he’s messy.

He makes his way to the back of the office and pulls down the chemistry textbook from a high shelf. Lotsa books. Anatomy, chemistry, calculus…

We go back downstairs with the book and paper and a pencil. I’m a little bummed—kind of hoped he would kiss me again—but I sit on the couch and he sits next to me and I’m satisfied with that. He puts an arm over the back of the couch and turns on the television to another animated movie. I think it’s _The Good Dinosaur _but I never saw it. I’m not ten.

It’s quiet. Snow falls past the window a little heavier now and my pencil scratches on the paper. Mr. Solo is scrolling through his phone with one hand, idly brushing his fingers along my bicep with the other. My skin tingles.

He’s warm. His thigh is leaning against mine, at least twice the size. Big. But he’s an Alpha, so…

My mind wanders and so do my eyes. I’ve felt his dick and I’m pretty sure he’ll kill me if he tries sticking it in me. It’s hard to see through his dress pants but I can remember it clear as day, hard and weirdly hot, and I wonder if it might burn me, too. I don’t think so. How fucked up would that be?

Mr. Solo clicks his tongue.

“Small?”

“Yeah, or extra small.” I tap my eraser on the textbook, trying to peer at what he’s doing. “I can just wear what I have. They throw away a lot in the big box stores, y’know.”

He groans and drops his phone in his lap, covering his face like he’s in pain. I tap my eraser quicker. Whoops. Did I say something wrong?

“I don’t steal,” I blurt, “if that’s—”

“I know.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I know. I just feel guilty every time I reminded of… how you live.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Maybe I’ll shut up. Seems like being forthcoming is just making this harder.

He picks up his phone after another minute and kisses the top of my head. I lean into it, closing my eyes. I’ll just stop talking about it. He doesn’t need to hear my sob story and I don’t want him to think I’m some sad little orphan. Not sexy.

“I don’t like thinking of you being hungry or picking around in a dumpster,” he murmurs. “That’s all.”

“Oh—sorry.”

His heavy arm settles on my shoulders and he laughs lightly. I shiver as fingertips graze my chest.

“You don’t have to apologize.” His touch roams along my collarbone, tracing the length of it. “Do you want a drink?”

I shrug. It’s only like eleven AM but okay.

Mr. Solo gets up and I watch over the back of the couch. I’m not going to pass out this time—I’ll stay awake and actually get drunk. Have to. Can’t look like a little kid in front of him.

I set my textbook on the coffee table when he comes back with a can of beer and a glass of white wine. Thank god. Beer is fucking disgusting.

“Homework looks good,” Mr. Solo says when he sits. He hands me the wine and sips the beer. “You should tutor Dameron.”

“That seems _way _too hard.”

“Doesn’t have a very long attention span. Nice kid—great athlete. I’m sure he’s getting a scholarship.”

We chat for a bit like we did last night about school and a little too much about Poe and other easy things. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing so I mostly let him talk and agree with what he says. I just want him to like me. I don’t want to leave. If I just nod and smile and laugh sometimes it should be okay.

The wine is much easier to drink than the beer and I finish three glasses before I know it. Time flows by quicker than normal and we go through two more movies before I try to get up to pee. I hate to go but I also don’t want my bladder to explode.

I sway, blinking hard. Ooo. I’m drunk.

Mr. Solo stands, too, hands reaching out to help me stay upright. I grab his forearms and teeter.

“Feeling okay?” he asks.

“Yeah—gotta pee.” I squeeze my eyes shut and open them wide when I look up at him. “Sorry.”

He smiles, searching my face. So tall.

I’m ready when he kisses me, meeting him halfway and eagerly sticking my tongue in his mouth. He huffs a laugh and cups my elbows so I can keep myself steady on his forearms. I kiss him, kind of sloppy, but I don’t really care. His mouth tastes minty. And like beer. Weird combination.

Mr. Solo hums. “Come.”

I’m led up the creaky stairs. I go pee while he walks off down the hall to get something, and when I open the door I see him standing there.

It’s not quite nighttime yet but he has a change of clothes that I think is for me, and smiles when I lean on the doorframe. I’m confused. Dizzy. This is the most I’ve had to drink _ever._

“You should take a bath,” he says. “Before bed.”

“But—but it’s early.” I rub my eyes and can’t keep the whine out of my voice. “Too early.”

“I want you in bed by eight, Rey. It’s better for you.”

Today has been a weird day and I don’t want to take a bath and go to bed in the middle of it. I stomp my foot because I don’t know what else to do, whining and grasping the edge of the sink to keep from falling over. I don’t want to look like a little kid.

“I’m gonna stay up,” I insist.

Mr. Solo ambles closer. “You’re going to take a bath and we’re going to watch one more movie before bed—or you’re going to be punished.”

Drunk brain races back to the previous night when he spanked me and an excited shiver runs down my spine. I don’t think I’d mind that again. It wasn’t so bad once I got used to it.

But I’m sleepy and dizzy so I give it up and wander into the bathroom. I’m expecting him to leave the clothes and go but he doesn’t: he sets them on the counter and closes the door behind him. Why is he in here? Doesn’t he want me to take a bath?

He goes to the tub and starts the water while I try to think through the haze. Maybe I smell bad.

“Do I smell bad?” I bleat, back to rubbing my eyes.

I squint as Mr. Solo approaches. He doesn’t say anything, just unbuttons my shirt with damp hands, and I bump into the edge of the counter.

“No. You don’t smell bad.” He smiles and I smile back, dazed by how tall and big he is. “I just always liked giving my Omega a bath.”

My shirt—_his _shirt—drapes open, already way too big on me but it’s even more obvious now. My ribs are just as obvious and I quickly cross my arms to hide them and my boobs as he folds the shirt and sets it aside on the counter. I don’t know why I’m hiding. He already touched them.

He takes off my pants right after and I’m suddenly naked, tingling and nervous and hoping I’ll disappear. I’m tired. Maybe I will go to bed early.

“Go ahead. It’s warm.”

My legs wobble as I make my way to the tub and step in, shivering at the heat. Bubbles froth on the surface and melt around me as I slowly sit, clinging to Mr. Solo’s arm for support. Not how I thought my Saturday night would go.

Time keeps slipping and the warmth makes me dip forward and pass out for a split second. I jerk awake with a gasp and hear him laugh. He’s kneeling next to the tub and squeezes my hand in his when I grab it. It’s the only thing convincing me I’m awake.

“Just relax,” he murmurs.

I try. His hand dips in the water and something rubs along my thigh; I think it’s a loofa but I’m keeping my eyes shut so the room stops spinning. It gently works along my legs down to my feet and he helps me lean forward so he can wash my back and stuff, too. I sag over his forearm, boneless.

Feels nice. Relaxing. I’m not going to say anything, but sometimes I’d have to wash mom off if she threw up or got hit in the face or whatever.

“I’m not going to hit you, little one.”

I blink slowly. I’m still leaned over his forearm and realize I just said that out loud.

“Y’pushed me,” I grumble.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.”

He kisses my head. The loofa is floating near my feet and he’s tracing my spine with his fingertip instead. What? Looking for scoliosis?

“I won’t hit you,” he repeats, trailing over my vertebrae. “I’ll ask when I feel like being rough.”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t give me that. I know how much you liked being spanked.”

“No!” I blurt. I shake my head and push upright, face hot. “I did not!”

Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows at my outburst, amused. He grasps the loofa with his free hand and draws it up my inner thigh.

“No?” he muses. “Not at all?”

I stiffen as he nudges between my thighs. Blushing, I shrug and look away, first at his hand under the water then at something less nerve wracking. Wall is good.

He kisses my shoulder, gently rubbing. It’s rough but still feels good—I squeeze my thighs around his wrist, squirming, unsure. This is bad, technically.

“I thought you might go hide in your nest and touch yourself,” he whispers. Lips graze my skin languidly back and forth. “And you’re not allowed to do that after you’re punished.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” I mumble.

“Do you like to at home?”

I redden even more and shrug. I’m drunk and still weirded out by talking about that stuff.

“How do you like to do it? Your fingers? A pillow?”

“Blanket.” I swallow a nervous lump. “But I don’t do it all the time or anything.”

He takes a shaky breath and I feel a little proud of myself for it. I’m not a kid or anything.

“I want to watch,” Mr. Solo says, and the loofa floats to the surface. “Is that okay?”

I shrug again because I don’t really want to say no. He kisses my cheek and helps me out of the tub before he drains it, and I watch the dirt circle the drain while he dries me off. Do I have to… make it interesting? In porn they’re kind of loud and I try to be as quiet as I can so I don’t wake up Unkar.

I’m still off balance and almost fall once or twice while Mr. Solo helps me into my clothes. He carries me down the hall to his bedroom and into the dark closet, still the same way I left it this morning.

He closes it most of the way behind him until only a little light comes through, and I drop to my knees. I crawl into the mess of blankets and paw around for one that’s easy to wind up into a ball. I can try. It’s hard to see him and I’m _really _tired.

“I’m just going to watch,” he reminds me softly.

I can’t see him but I think he’s somewhere behind me. Usually I don’t get naked when I do it at home so I don’t this time, either, and I push the blanket under my hips, shifting until it’s comfortable.

It’s kind of straightforward, I think. My breaths come quicker as I move faster, rolling my hips and squirming until I feel tension building between my legs, and arousal clouds over my trepidation over him watching me getting off. Trepidation. SAT word.

I buck against the soft blanket and bite another one to keep my whimpers from getting out. Being loud is embarrassing. Pornstar-ish.

“Does it feel good?”

Mr. Solo’s voice comes from behind me. Fingers brush my calf and I shiver, nodding. Yes.

“Good girl. Good girl.”

Sheets rustle and I hesitate when I feel him straddling me. He takes the blanket and I’m rolled to my back, breathless and writhing—then his weight is pushing me into the blankets. I whimper nervously at his breath in my ear and feel the heaviness of his cock between my legs. Uh oh.

He shushes me, cupping my cheek to turn my mouth to his. I kiss him and fist his shirt, heart pounding from excitement. Mr. Solo groans into my mouth as he rolls his hips, rubbing against me like he did the night before. It’s thick. Warm. I meet his thrusts a bit quicker because I’m right on the edge.

“That’s it,” he whispers, then kisses me again. “That’s it. You like this, baby?”

“Yes—yes.” I nod fast and push down on his hips, straining to get closer. “I want… want you inside me.”

He groans, pained, and shakes his head. We’re both panting and my toes curl watching his eyes flicker back. It feels good for him, too. I’ve never been this close to another person, I think.

“Not yet. Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please?” I wheedle. Now I’m horny and drunk and throwing caution to the wind.

Mr. Solo laughs, breathless. “Not yet, baby. Let me dress you in nice clothes—and fill your belly with some food before all that.” He grasps my jaw in his huge hand and searches my face, dark eyes hooded. “Not that I haven’t been thinking about it for weeks.”

“Really?” I rasp.

“I knew you needed me as much as I need you.”

A pulse of emotion washes through me but I manage not to burst into tears. He kisses me and I paw at his belt when I come, writhing and gasping on his shoulder. It rattles up the small of my back and to the tips of my toes—I’m stunned for a second by it. Wow. Doesn’t usually feel like _that_.

Mr. Solo buries his face in my neck and his hips stutter and I think that means he’s coming. He grunts, jerking forward violently enough to shift me forward, and I’m happy that _I _made him do that, and _I _made him feel good. Not such a sad little orphan now.

His breaths come quick and hot on my neck. Humid. He shivers and kisses my jaw, and I smile.

“You’re a good girl, Rey.”


	11. sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i stg this sleepover is done as of next chapter 😂😂 i just like writing out everything SORRY

Something pinches my thigh in the middle of the night. Feels like a bug bite.

I frown and paw at the spot only to touch Mr. Solo’s fingers already massaging it. My eyes pop open—oh right. We did that. Stuff. He’s still lying in the closet with me but I think he’s changed, and my clothes are all askew. He’s nuzzling my hair.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His fingers grasp my hip and gently tug my butt into his groin. “I couldn’t resist.”

My breath hitches. He’s hard, pushing against my butt and rolling his hips just a bit, breaths warm and shallow on my scalp. It makes my head spin that someone _wants _me bad enough to wake me up, and it’s thrilling that he’s just kind of doing it without asking. Possessive. Domineering. SAT word.

Mr. Solo keeps pulling to roll me on my back and kisses me. He parts my thighs with his knee and grasps my jaw, slipping his tongue in my mouth, more of that possessive stuff that makes my stomach jump. Works for me. This stuff is fun and it’s easier in the dark. Don’t have to look in his eyes or anything.

He rolls my lower lip through his teeth, groaning when I squirm along his length. He’s heavy. Hot. Feels like he’s crushing me but I don’t mind it.

“Good girl—just like that.” Fingers close around my calf and he yanks me closer, weight shifting. He kisses a trail from my mouth to my ear. “Just like that.”

Mr. Solo doesn’t move much, letting me squirm and roll my hips instead, clinging to his broad back. We’re quiet otherwise and I do my best _not _to make any sound, just pacing my breathing and burying my face in his neck, and he lazily kisses my jaw. Sheets rustle and my mouth waters. Pheromones.

I tighten my thighs around his hips when I’m close, panting, digging my nails into his back. But despite how tightly I’m clinging to him he still pulls away, shushing my desperate whimper. Ugh. Blue… clit.

He kneels between my legs, cupping my knee. “Go ahead. I want to watch.”

“But… but…”

“_Rey_. Be a good girl.”

That does weird things to me. Weird, tingly things. I swallow the nervous stone in my throat and start to push down my bottoms.

“Leave them on. I like watching your little hand move around in your pants.”

Blushing, I awkwardly slip a hand down my pants and brush my very sensitive clit. A warm hand presses on my knee to spread my legs further and I rub in tight circles with my eyes squeezed shut. I don’t want to look at him or it’ll be really awkward. I hope I can still come this way. Can he tell if I don’t?

Mr. Solo’s hand drifts away and I hear rustling followed by the sound of spitting. His hand comes back, squeezing, and he takes a sharp breath. Rhythmic wet strokes mix with mine and I slow a little, excited and nervous. I think he’s jerking off. Holy shit—is he jerking off?

His fingertips tease my inner thigh. “Keep going, baby. You’re doing so good.”

I do what he says, even though I think I’m too anxious to actually finish now. His breaths come faster and harsher and he rubs his thumb on my inner thigh, and in the semi darkness I can make out his face, eyes hooded, lips parted. He licks his lips.

I’m not used to touching myself with my fingers but the look on his face, all pleasure directed towards _me_, makes it easier than I thought. Anxiety melts away as the tension builds and soon I’m bucking my hips, moaning—but not too loud because I don’t want to be gross. I don’t think men like when you’re loud.

His hand plants next to my head, the other still working feverishly between his legs. We could have sex right now. There’s no one around to stop us.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice all guttural and _hot. _It dips lower. “I want to knot you—so fucking badly.”

“Really?”

Mr. Solo leans his weight on his forearm and pants on my hairline, nodding, groping for my wrist sticking out of my bottoms. He shifts up a little and tugs down and I jump when I brush the sticky head of his cock, because its _hot_ and big and weirdly soft. I’ve never touched one before.

His hips jerk and he pulls. “Already almost there—haven’t popped a knot in _years_.”

My fingers tremble as I prod the firm underside of his head again, and he laughs and kisses my head and pushes his entire dick in my palm. My eyes widen at the size of it and it twitches when I squeeze, curious about the thickness. It’s big.

He swallows. “Little further down.”

Fingertips brush down because I’m too scared to commit to jerking him off, and I feel a strange protrusion at the base.

Mr. Solo shudders while I gently prod at it, terror quickly blooming in my stomach. Holy shit. It’s the knot, and it’s big enough to kill me. Too stiff to be pulled out and too big to possibly fit—my mind dives into blood and agony and him fucking me to death, and I jerk my hand away.

He grabs my wrist. My spine prickles and a cold shiver makes my heart skip a beat.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, guiding my hand to his shaft again. “We’re going to go nice and slow, Rey. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I’m not sure what to say but I’m terrified he’s going to shove it inside me. I yank harder and he lets go this time. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated so the whole eyeball looks black, and the same something that makes me afraid of him rears up. Common sense—I don’t know, but whatever it is, it reminds me that he’s _not like me_, and his body wasn’t made for mine.

Mr. Solo leans back on his calves and stares down at me. I don’t move a muscle.

He rubs his face and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” His thick fingers go to tuck his cock in his pants. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” I lie, and my trembling voice gives me away. “I can… I can t-try.”

The greater fear looms: I’ve made a mistake and now he won’t want me anymore. No more baths and sleepovers and dinners. If I don’t let him fuck me he’s not going to want me.

“I’m so used to being able to—roll over and—” Mr. Solo waves a hand and rolls his neck, breathing deep. He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No—no—I’m sorry I made a big deal about it.” I scramble to sit up, desperate to patch up my mistake before he leaves forever. “I’m not scared, really. It’s just a… it’s just a…” My throat goes dry.

I’m used to this. When people think you’re a pain they get rid of you. I have to be useful.

Mr. Solo opens the closet door. I’m so anxious that tears well up and when he looks at me he groans. I’m really fucking up. I’m so fucking stupid.

“I’m not scared,” I repeat. My voice cracks. “I’m really not scared.”

Then I burst into tears.

He reaches for me but I’m determined to show him I’m fine so I swat his hands away and blubber ‘I’m not scared’ again, which convinces neither of us. I’m afraid of what he wants from me and never being able to please him and being pried from the most comfortable home I’ve ever had—but I manage to keep that to myself as he pulls me into his lap.

I try to turn to kiss him, hoping I can still turn the situation around, but he gathers me in so I’m curled against his chest and I can’t move. Arms wrap around me like a vice, tight and constricting in a way that should freak me out.

But I relax instead. His heart beats slow and rhythmic under my ear, and he’s warm, and he smells like detergent and whiskey. It’s nice.

Mr. Solo murmurs in my hair. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

“I’m—I’m s-sorry.”

“Why?”

I sniffle, hiccuping pitifully. He hugs me tighter.

“For being dr-dr—” I hiccup. “Dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic at all, and I’m not upset with you. I’m… pushing things on you that are outside your comfort zone, and that’s not your fault.” He nuzzles my head and sighs. “There’s just something about you.”

I don’t ask him to elaborate. I’m embarrassed and crying like a moron, so I settle into that for a while. Might as well.

After a couple minutes something thrums under my cheek, and I realize it’s _him_. I frown, rubbing my eyes and marveling at the weird vibration. I think he’s purring. I didn’t know they could do that.

Mr. Solo carries me from the closet to the bed and settles me there instead. He goes to the bathroom and brings back a cloth to wipe my face, which I figure would be gross but doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s nice. He grasps my jaw and I limply lay there and let him clean me.

“I’ll let you sleep in a little,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “We can cook next weekend.”

“Next weekend?”

He raises his eyebrows, one hand on the headboard to support his weight. I sniffle.

“Did you have other plans?” he asks, kind of teasing, but a muscle jumps in his jaw.

“Oh—no. No.” I shake my head quickly. “No. Sorry.”

“Good. Good.”

Mr. Solo hovers there for a minute, searching my face. He cups my cheek and I relax into it, happy for the excuse to close my eyes. His are intense. It’s like looking into a murky lake and having no idea what kinds of things lurk in the depths.

He kisses me, lingering for another long minute. His lips are soft, and he strokes my cheek with his thumb.

“No other boys, right?” he murmurs. I shake my head and he kisses me once more. “Good. Just me and you.”

I nod and he nods and smiles. I’m hoping he’s going to lie down with me but he gets up and heads to the door instead. Maybe he needs space to calm down.

It’s nice being in his bed. I turn on my side after he shuts the door and bury my face in the pillows, breathing in the scent of him and his cologne. He’s not mad, so that’s good. Hugged me and everything. And I can sleep in.

My eyes flutter shut. This is good.


	12. motherfu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO TRIPLE UPDATE PLS CHECK MY CARRD LOLOL

“So what did you do last weekend, Rey?”

People swirl around me in the hallways at school and Rose is asking me a question, but I’m still thinking about how I spent all day Sunday curled up in bed watching movies with Mr. Solo. He made snacks. I only ever got up to pee.

I shrug, casting Rose a sideways glance.

“Nothing really. Watched movies.”

“Oh.” She frowns and shrugs. “Well if you want to hang out this weekend let me know.”

“Maybe. I might be busy.”

She laughs. We’re on our way to history and honestly, it _is _kind of laughable that I would ever be busy doing anything. She’s not being mean.

“Did you meet someone?” she asks.

“No, just doing a lot of side jobs for Unkar to make extra money. For when we go out to eat.”

“Aw, Rey, you know I don’t mind buying! My parents give me the most ridiculous allowance _ever_…”

Rose keeps talking but I’m drifting off into my memories again, smiling and nodding along. Maybe this weekend he’ll give me a bath. He said he wanted to. I think I want him to.

—•—

Chemistry rolls around and my heart is pounding by the time I get to the classroom. I’m right on time and both Poe and Finn greet me loudly across the din of everyone sharing what they did over the weekend. There was a game so most of them got drunk.

I hardly sit down before Poe descends to quiz me on why I didn’t go—and I know he’s not trying to be pushy, because Rose has it in his head that he needs to include me in things, but I’m annoyed anyway.

“I was busy,” I repeat for the hundredth time. I put my chem book on my desk.

“I know, I know; that’s what Rose said.” He sighs and shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, we _want _you to go. It’s not like a charity thing.”

“Gee, thanks for letting me know.”

“Well—I didn’t mean it like—”

I sigh dramatically and pout my lower lip and he catches on to the sarcasm. He laughs. Good for him.

“Next time,” he says, pointing and raising his eyebrows.

I wave him off and he shakes his head and laughs again. It’s nice being included; can’t deny that, and I know they’re my friends, but I’d much rather spend my weekend being bathed and catered to than having one of Poe’s weird friends hitting on me.

The classroom door opens. I don’t look back, suddenly worried it’ll be suspicious, and carefully rearrange my notebook and textbook on my desk. I haven’t seen him since he dropped me off Sunday night and he hasn’t texted me, either. I hope he still likes me.

His cologne brushes by me right after he does and the door slams shut. I keep my eyes down.

“Miss Niima, chapter ten, please. Supplies.”

Yes sir. I nod and scurry for the closet while he sets his things down, still avoiding looking him in the eyes. It’s awkward, after all the… _things _we did. I touched his dick. He dry humped me. Lots of big happenings.

The chatter reaches a fever pitch just as the closet door shuts behind me. I cross my arms and realize I didn’t bring the damn book to know what to pick. Shit. Now I have to walk back out—

The door opens. “Forget something?”

I turn, heart skipping a beat, but frown when I see Poe. He smiles so I smile and thank him when he sets the textbook on the counter. Well. Bummer.

It’s just as nerve-wracking being alone with Poe, maybe because he’s a boy with a dick and I’m wildly inexperienced. While he gets something off a high shelf my phone vibrates and I’m grateful for the interruption. Did Mr. Solo send him in here? Maybe he doesn’t like me. Letting me down easy. Poe is a honeypot to distract me.

> **Friday **10:07 PM
> 
> hey i’m at cumby’s whenever ur done
> 
> **Today **1:18 PM
> 
> What the fuck is Dameron doing?

I glance up, excited. Is he jealous? No way.

> he brought my book, i forgot it  
**Read **1:19 PM
> 
> How did you forget your book?
> 
> i’m sorry
> 
> Poe’s father is an Alpha. Could present late. Him gravitating towards you makes me uneasy.

Woah, holy shit. No one told me Poe’s dad is a demi-human. Holy _shit_.

I glance at Poe and he turns to flash me another megawatt grin. What if Mr. Solo is right? What if Poe is being nice because he sees the same traits in me that Mr. Solo sees? Alphas are always violent when they first present.

Before I can make up an excuse, the closet door opens, and our teacher is affixing Poe with a venomous glare. I shut my mouth. He looks nice. Black pants and a gray shirt. Looks _big_.

“Distracting Miss Niima?” Mr. Solo snaps.

“I just came to h—”

“Go sit.” Mr. Solo leans on the door to hold it open.

Poe huffs and rolls his eyes but leaves. I watch him go and jump when our teacher turns his angry dark eyes on me. What did _I_ do? I’m blameless. Innocent. Not so much the latter now.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder so he can step into the storage room and I cower. Door slams shut—lot of slamming doors today—and he grabs my entire jaw in the palm of his hand, yanking me up on my tiptoes, then kissing me hard on the lips.

I recoil, breathless. “Um—what if someone—?”

Mr. Solo turns us and pins me against the opposite countertop, where you can’t see looking in through the window on the door. He kisses me again, this time with tongue, and I eagerly kiss him back. We’re making out at school. No big deal.

He tugs my lower lip in his teeth as he draws back, pressing his forehead on mine. I stare into his dark eyes, mesmerized.

“You’re _mine_,” he says in a low, threatening tone. “Do you understand?”

I nod, but he squeezes and repeats himself anyway, so I nod faster. Real about-face from Sunday.

Mr. Solo searches my eyes for another few seconds before he lets go. I stay leaning on the counter, hands trembling so much that I shove them in my hoodie. Don’t want him to know I’m scared.

He grabs a flask from the top shelf. “Poe probably picks up on the same attributes in you that drew me in. I’m sure he’s a baby Alpha in the making.”

“So… so I should stop… being like myself?”

Stuff rattles as he sets it on the counter. I’m confused. I feel like Poe is just being nice.

“No.” Mr. Solo looks over his shoulder at me, sharp, irritated. “You’re perfect. These things happen from time to time when two Alphas cross and the pickings are slim. Territorial dispute.”

“So I’m slim pickings?”

His eyebrows raise and his expression morphs in the blink of an eye, back to the amused, maybe enamored thing we had over the weekend. He smiles and shakes his head as he looks at the shelf again.

“No, but there aren’t exactly plentiful substitutes for Omegas—and you’re better than the real thing.”

Oh. I wipe my mouth and smile a little. Cool.

Mr. Solo finishes getting his stuff and checks the door before kissing my forehead. I lean into it, closing my eyes, daydreaming about more cuddling.

“You’re very important to me, little one,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“Good girl.” A pause. “How have you been feeling?”

I shrug. He’s studying me again, head cocked.

“I’m okay.” I hug myself because when he stares I get nervous. “It was a lot but I’m okay. It’ll get easier the more we, uh…”

“It will. I promise.”

Mr. Solo smiles at my unsure shrug—lot of door slamming _and _shrugging today—and he gives me another soft kiss on the lips. Something shatters outside and he whips around, hissing a curse.

I watch him go, and wince when he shouts _Are you fucking serious, Poe?!_ Maybe I’ll stay here a little longer and daydream some more. 

—•—

Rose texts me for most of the night about Poe being suspended. He broke something with a corrosive chemical that splashed on Finn’s cheek. Not so good.

I roll around on my bed trying to get comfortable but it’s not easy when it’s so goddamn _small_. I’ve almost found the perfect position to text when Mr. Solo sends me a message and I sit bolt upright.

> **Today **9:33 PM
> 
> How are you feeling?

“Good now,” I mumble, but I’m not a big enough dork to say it.

> ok! just texting rose  
**Read **9:34 PM
> 
> Good. Do you need anything? Your clothes should be here by Friday and you can try them on when you come by for the weekend. Need food? Shoes? Anything?
> 
> i’m all set!! thank u 😊
> 
> I want you to start drinking Ensure. I know it isn’t the *tastiest* thing in the world but you’re very thin and it concerns me.

Eww. I make a face. Isn’t that shit for old people who are dying? I’m not… _that _skinny. But I agree to drink it because I figure he knows best.

> okie dokie sir
> 
> Good.  
Forgive me for being like this. Poe has me on edge. I’d prefer if you stayed with me for safety but I don’t think your uncle would appreciate it.
> 
> he usually never notices when i’m gone

Mr. Solo types, stops, then starts typing again. I chew my nails, heart hammering. I could probably be gone most nights of the week and Unkar wouldn’t care. It would be _amazing_.

> Don’t fucking tempt me.

He’s typing again. I chew and wait.

> I shouldn’t text this sort of shit to you.
> 
> i’m completely ok w u kidnapping me  
**Read **9:39 PM
> 
> I want to. I’m still fucking furious at some teenage boy and it’s been hours and you’re half my age. I just want to chain you to my bed.
> 
> do i get bathroom breaks and snacks
> 
> I’ll give you whatever you want as long as you don’t try to leave me.

Oh my god. I bite my knuckles and squeal. He seriously likes me. I love how possessive he is. He _cares _about me.

> i’ll do whatever u want
> 
> I know.  
This morning in the shower I got off thinking about you squirming around underneath me. Little sounds you make. You’re such a good girl, Rey. You’re going to be so perfect.
> 
> awwww i’m not perfect now? 😞
> 
> You are. I’m just very excited to see how you develop.

Develop? I frown but don’t nitpick the phrase and tell him I’m going to be around Friday right after school.

He doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s busy.


	13. oops

Mr. Solo goes back to ignoring me for the rest of the week. I’m fine with it—he’s probably afraid of getting caught—and I make sure I don’t text him and bug him or say anything at school. We’ll see each other this weekend. I hope.

There’s practice, too. He _is _a coach, and I know for a fact that Finn has practice Monday and Wednesday, so I’m sure that’s keeping Mr. Solo busy. And Poe almost burning Finn’s face off. Bet the adults are all real mad about that. Finn is okay but his parents were understandably pissed off.

On Thursday I’m scrolling through Facebook looking at pictures of Bazine’s new car when I get a text—from Poe, of all people.

> **Monday **4:29 PM
> 
> Heard u got suspended 👎🏻
> 
> Yeah haha. No biggie. Thanks for checking in Niima.
> 
> **Today **6:16 PM
> 
> Heyyyy there. What’s up?

I blink at the message. Poe never texts me. I was just trying to be nice Monday and he gave me his usual dismissive ‘cool thanks’ shit. What does he want?

> hey! nothing just looking at bazine’s new car. pretty cool!
> 
> Yeah it’s nice.
> 
> So I wanted to ask if you want to hang out this weekend? See a movie or something. Reynolds and Tico are game to come with us.

I blink faster. What? _What_? Is Poe asking me out? Isn’t he seeing someone? Bazine? Kaydel? Jessika? I can’t keep track.

I’m floored. I don’t know how to answer. Do I have to accept? I feel like Poe isn’t the person to reject. He’s nice and it’s not like he’s ugly. Plus, Mr. Solo has gone back to ignoring me. Maybe if I go out on a date…

I screenshot the texts and send it to him, pulse fluttering, immediately nervous. Just so he knows other guys like me. I think it’s fair.

He calls. I break out in a cold sweat. Shit.

I mumble a ‘hello’, infinitely less brave than I am through texts.

“Sorry,” I mumble on, “I wasn’t sure how to respond—”

“I don’t mind if you see your friends, Rey.”

His voice is eerily calm and light, like he’s talking to a cat. I hesitate, thrown by it when I was expecting him to get all angry Alpha like he did at school. It’s slightly disappointing. I like when he shows he cares.

“…Oh,” I reply. I pick at my comforter. “Okay. I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“Well… Poe is… maybe an Alpha, right?”

Mr. Solo sighs into the receiver. I think I hear clinking like ice in a glass.

“Probably.” He pauses and sips something. “But I can’t stop you from taking risks.”

“Risks?” I echo.

“Well, if Poe goes into an unexpected rut…” He trails off ominously.

My cheeks burn thinking of Poe getting all over me. Don’t like that. No thanks.

“Sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

Mr. Solo is quiet for a minute. I can hear something playing in the background, maybe a TV show. He’s probably sitting on the couch trying to relax and I just annoyed the shit out of him in my weird desperate attempt to get him to act jealous again.

“Are you home?”

I nod, then remember to speak. My eyes are welling up with tears. I’m an idiot.

“Yes,” I croak. “I’m just sitting in my room.”

“I’ve been giving more thought to kidnapping you, Rey—especially when you talk to boys.”

My heart stutters. “I just felt bad and wanted to be nice. I’m not like… interested—”

“What am I supposed to do—tell you to stay away from your peers? Isolate you?” He isn’t quite raising his voice but he’s getting there and it makes me wince. “Because that’s what I would _like _to do, Rey. It’s what comes naturally to me.”

That’s what I think I want him to do. I’m not sure. I know I feel safer and more cared about when he’s possessive and controlling.

I don’t respond. I’m hoping he understands my silence because I can’t possibly say what I’m feeling.

Mr. Solo is quiet for another minute before he mutters and his glass slams down. I hear a creak.

“Fine. Pack some clothes. Yours aren’t here yet.”

He hangs up.

Excitement flushes out all my anxiety and I hop out of bed to throw some stuff in my backpack. He really does care, he’s just trying to be nice and give me space and stuff. It’s what he should do I’m sure but it’s not what I want. It feels better when he gets jealous and orders me around, even if it’s intimidating. No one else cares likes that.

I’m hoping I can stay Friday through the whole weekend—skip school tomorrow. That would be fun. I never skip, so…

I’m ready in five minutes and it takes ten for Mr. Solo to text me that he’s at the end of my driveway. I text Poe to tell him I’m busy this weekend and slip by Unkar zonked out in the living room, going straight out into a light snowfall. Colorado. Snow.

My teacher is parked behind a tree. He gets out when I come around the corner, snapping his fingers for me to hand him my backpack. I do, quickly, and when he points I hurry to the passenger seat. He’s in a black sweater and jeans. Very casual for him.

I put on my seatbelt just as he’s getting in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing sunglasses and smells faintly of alcohol.

“I’ve been careful all fucking week,” he snaps. The door slams shut. “I’m doing this for your safety, Rey. Do you know what will happen if I bend you over my couch and fuck you?”

Shivering, I shake my head, even though I kind of know. Love the idea of him bending me over something and fucking me, though.

He puts on his belt and folds his shades over the collar of his sweater. He’s pissed. It’s terrifying and exhilarating. Maybe I won’t cry this time when we fool around.

“I have to be _very careful_,” he continues hotly, “not only because of your age, but what you are. I don’t want another repeat of the classroom—I don’t want to hurt you.” He shifts gears and starts driving, passing a hand through his hair. “Suppressants don’t work on everything. It’s a concerted effort.”

I nod, awash with shame. Well. Oops.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“I don’t want to isolate you from your friends, Rey,” he repeats. He’s watching the road, rubbing his face. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I wring my hands. “I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“I’m still going to punish you when we get home.”

I glance at him, and he raises his eyebrows, so I nod and look away again. Okay. That makes sense.

It’s a short drive to his house and by the time we get there it’s dark out. I clamber out and follow him quietly to the door, smiling a little at my backpack over his huge shoulder. It’s kind of funny.

He locks the door behind me once we’re inside. I cross my arms and shiver.

“Did you eat anything today?”

“Yeah, I had lunch at school.”

Mr. Solo huffs. “And the Ensure?”

“…I don’t really have money—”

He snaps his fingers, motioning for me to follow him upstairs. I hurry up after him down the hall to the bedroom.

Mr. Solo drops my backpack on the floor. “I’m very upset, Rey.”

He turns, running a stiff hand through his hair, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. I hover near the door and look at my hands to avoid his ire.

“I want you to be healthy,” he snaps, “and happy. You can’t be either of those things living where you are now and it _irritates _me—and then I have to worry about Poe fucking Dameron permanently disfiguring you with his knot.”

_Disfiguring_? My eyes widen a little. Jesus.

Mr. Solo paces for a while before he comes back to me. He grabs my jaw and forces me to meet his furious dark eyes, fingers digging into my skin. I stare, mesmerized by him like I always am. He smells nicer than usual today.

He rolls his lips and searches my face. I stare up at him. I feel guilty.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he says. His grip slackens. “I have to keep control of myself, little one. If I make one wrong move, I could cause you severe pain. Disfigurement. We have to take things slow.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer for the millionth time.

“You don’t need to be. I know.” Mr. Solo kisses my forehead. “I know what you want. What you need. But I can’t hurt you again.”

I nod quickly. I feel bad—really bad. His hand slips away from my jaw and he hugs me, squashing me to his broad chest, and I bury my face in his sweater.

“Sorry,” I say, muffled in his shirt. “I thought you should know.”

“I know what you wanted, Omega.”

The word sends a shiver down my spine but I don’t respond to it. He’s still hugging me, nuzzling in my hair, and I think he doesn’t know what he said.

_Omega. _I wish. I want to be what he needs.

Mr. Solo sighs.

“Go ahead and get changed. I’ll drop you off near school tomorrow and talk to your uncle.”

“Unkar?”

He kisses my head and slips away. I’m surprised—why is he going to talk to Unkar?

“Go ahead,” Mr. Solo repeats. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Oh. Okay.

I go to my book bag to pick out my pajamas, and Mr. Solo strides from the room. I don’t know what he’s going to talk to Unkar about but I’m sure it’s going to be something to do with me.

A smile cracks my tears. I think I’m going to be kidnapped.


	14. yikes

I’m left alone in the bed that night and not immediately punished. Mr. Solo sleeps on the couch, much to my disappointment, but he seems less annoyed when he wakes me up in the morning. He’s dressed up and ready for school, shiny black belt and black shoes and all. Smells nice.

“Get ready and meet me downstairs for breakfast,” he says as I roll over and yawn.

He leaves the room. I hope he isn’t still mad at me.

After I shower I tiptoe to the kitchen dressed and ready, hair still damp. Breakfast smells good: bacon and eggs and English muffins. Mr. Solo is busy cooking and doesn’t notice me until I sit at the table to wait. Chair legs scrape when I scoot in and he turns abruptly and I freeze. Eep.

“Your hair is wet,” he says.

“No hair dryer. I just let it air dry.”

“It’s thirty degrees out.”

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

Mr. Solo studies me for a minute before he returns to cooking. I stretch my neck to see—I think he’s making omelets. Yum.

He’s quiet when he brings me my plate. I thank him but grimace at a brown bottle of Ensure he sets next to my glass of water. I could just eat a lot instead if I need to gain weight, right? I’ll eat whatever. I’m not picky, and I want to make him happy.

He sits across from me. “After breakfast I have an injection you’re going to take three times a week.”

“Oh. What is it?”

“…B twelve. For your immune system.”

The weird bites I’ve been feeling wander through my head. Well… he’s just trying to help. I _am _malnourished. Kind of gross.

I pick up my fork but he slides my plate over to cut up the omelet himself. I smile, looking down to hide it. He opens the Ensure, too, and I drink it as fast as I can so I don’t have to taste it. It’s not that bad, though. Tolerable. I’ll deal with it.

Mr. Solo eats neatly the way he always does, cutting things into sections and taking his time with every bite. He rubs under his bracelet and my stare lingers for a minute before I go back to my breakfast.

This is nice. I hope we keep having breakfast together like this.

“I’m going to drop you off a few blocks down from the school,” he says.

“Okay. I can walk.”

He sighs, raising his eyebrows. “I would prefer you didn’t but I can’t risk anyone seeing us together. I’m going to speak to Unkar after school—you can meet me at the same place where I drop you off—and I expect you to work on your assignments while I’m gone. Don’t leave the house. Don’t tell anyone where you are, particularly Miss Tico.”

“Okay.”

“Does she visit you at home often?”

“No.” I shake my head quickly. “No one does. There isn’t really a lot to do there.”

Mr. Solo searches my face like he thinks I’m lying. His tongue roams inside his cheek and he nods.

“Good. Then they won’t wonder why you’re not going home.”

My heart leaps. I stare, forgetting my food for a minute, until he tilts his head and gestures to my plate. Great. I can live here. No big deal.

After I’m done eating Mr. Solo loads the dishwasher. He opens a cabinet over the sink and reaches up for a small black bag with a zipper. Looks like a big pencil case. He unzips it but I can’t see what he’s doing until he turns around holding a needle and a small square wipe. Eep.

“It works best in the hip.” He flicks the barrel. “Can you take off your pants for me, dear?”

I hop up and peel off my jeans. Mr. Solo pushes air out of the barrel as he walks over and motions for me to sit. I sit. He kneels.

“Let me know if you have any side effects,” he says, wiping my skin clean. I look away when he pushes the needle in. “Anything that feels unusual: nausea, mood swings, cramps.”

I just nod, wincing. Sure, whatever.

When he’s done he wipes the spot and puts a band aid on it. I’m rewarded with a forehead kiss and he murmurs for me to get dressed.

I button my jeans and take a deep breath. Cool. That wasn’t so bad.

—•—

School is slower than ever. I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut around Rose because I _really _want to brag about Mr. Solo, but I’m more afraid of him rejecting me than desperate to gain approval from my friends. So I just shut up instead.

Around noon I notice my neck is itchy, and I figure that’s a reportable side effect. I text Mr. Solo while Rose snaps at Finn for throwing food at her.

> **Text Message  
****Today **8:07 AM
> 
> c u later!! 😊
> 
> Be good.
> 
> **Today **12:20 PM
> 
> hi um my neck itches
> 
> Where?
> 
> kinda the side ish? it’s not that bad  
**Read **12:22 PM

Mr. Solo takes a second to respond. I idly rub my neck and smile at a weird joke Finn makes. Loud in lunch today. Pizza day. I have my paper bag with Ensure and a bunch of other healthy stuff and I’m slowly making my way through it.

> Meet me at the maintenance closet near the art room. Hank hardly uses it.
> 
> can i finish eating?
> 
> Of course. Text me when you’re coming.

Great. I put my phone away and dig into my bananas and my ham sandwich at the same time. What? I’m starving.

Rose waves when I mumble an excuse to leave. I send Mr. Solo a text on my way out of the lunch room and try not to look like I’m rushing to the utility closet. Hallways are empty. Everyone is eating. He wants to see me _alone _in a _closet. _

I turn down the hall to the art room, peeking over my shoulder as I reach the small closet. It’s set back from the wall, kind of concealed, and the handle doesn’t turn when I try it. Uh oh. Does he know it’s locked?

Footsteps come from behind me. Before I can turn I’m shoved against the door, and his face is buried in my neck, and I can’t help a surprised squeak. A key crunches in the door as his hand wanders down my thigh. He smells good. His breath is warm.

“Did you eat all your lunch?” Mr. Solo murmurs.

The door opens and I stumble inside, nodding and trying to babble something out as he turns me around. It slams shut before I glimpse his face then he’s kissing me, hard and hungry, pushing me into the sharp edge of a shelf. His hands slip down the back hem of my jeans and squeeze my ass.

Stuff rattles. His mouth tastes like Altoids layered over cigarettes but there’s something sweet, too, and I grab his sweater in my fists, whimpering. Weird. What is it? Tastes good. What is it?

Mr. Solo shushes me. He unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down to my knees.

“Shh… shh.” He kisses my temple, whispering, working open his belt. His breaths are shallow. “You smell so lovely today, Rey.”

I’m lifted up on something solid, still wearing my panties, shivering at the cold. My heart races as he kisses my neck and pushes until I’m flat on my back, legs spread around his hips as far as they can go with my jeans on. I cling to him while he kisses my neck, excited and nervous, then mostly nervous when I feel his dick through my panties. It’s so _hot_. Thick.

Mr. Solo shifts closer. I’m tense, anxious, jumping when he pushes his cock down the front of my underwear. It’s softer than I remember but solid and hard and I’m afraid he’s about to shove it inside me because the tip is _poking me there. _

He starts moving. Rubbing. It’s rough and fast and he covers my mouth, puffing in my hair. Feels good—full, kind of. Risky. I’m a little wet so it doesn’t hurt and he’s definitely leaking stuff that I’m guessing is precum, so he strokes smoothly along my slit, sometimes teasing my entrance and making my toes curl. I roll my hips and squirm. I’m flying.

Laughter floats down the hall and sneakers squeak by. Mr. Solo hesitates, nuzzling into my neck, gently shushing my rapid breathing. I realize my hands are shaking but I can’t stop them: he’s moving his hips even though people are talking outside, and part of his cock is rubbing against my clit. God. Holy shit.

“I’m going to cum in these little panties,” he coos, so soft I barely hear him. I whimper and he hums. “It’s okay, little one. You have nice new panties waiting at home you’re going to try on for me.”

I nod, swallowing hard, eyes rolling back. Okay. Sure. If he gives me some wine first.

He presses his forehead to my temple. “Good girl. Good girl.” His voice lowers but the people outside are moving away. “I expect you to do… all your homework before I come home. If you don’t then I’m not going to play with you tonight.”

_Play_. That evokes all kinds of emotions—such a weird word but so hot for some reason. _Play_. Eep. I like it.

I nod and squirm, trying to push his cock inside me. I’m not sure why. A utility closet in the middle of the school day isn’t how I pictured losing my virginity. But it feels good and the slight pressure is like an impetus to keep going; like I can’t stop.

Mr. Solo gently pushes back and I just feel sharp pain and blunt pressure. I twist away, flinching. Ow. Too big. Too big. Abort, abort.

He takes in a shaky breath. “I know, baby. I want it, too. We’ll work on it tonight after you finish your homework and show me your new clothes.” Thrusting resumes, rough. “Then we can play.”

I’m uneasy because I don’t think his dick will ever fit inside me, but the way he’s rubbing makes me come anyway. I try to tighten my knees around his hips and I’m still squirming and whining when Mr. Solo comes in my underwear.

His teeth click. “Fuck—fuck, baby—”

It’s warm and wet and sticky. His cock throbs and spills, some soaking my panties as he thrusts and grunts, then the tip pushes against my entrance, then he’s bearing down. It’s slick from his cum and my eyes widen when I feel it squirt inside me, just from the half inch he’s managed to push in. It leaks out.

He breathes hard against my neck, groaning low. I’m trembling underneath him, pinned down, more freaked out than I thought I’d be. I’ve never been close like this to another person. This feels like a lot: the sounds he makes, his weight, the size of his dick that’s just barely inside me.

Mr. Solo’s hand still covers my mouth as he straightens. I jump a little when his cock slips from my underwear.

He takes them off off and cleans between my legs a little. He helps me into my jeans and buttons them. Feels weird not wearing anything underneath. And it’s still sticky. He doesn’t say anything the entire time and I’m too afraid to ask any questions. Someone might hear us.

“Wait five minutes after I leave,” Mr. Solo says. “The door will lock behind you.”

I nod, mumbling ‘okay’ when I remember he can’t see me that well. I’m still lying flat on my back when he steps between my knees and kisses my forehead.

“Did you like that?” he mumbles against my skin.

“Mhm.” I nod but my throat tightens. “Yes.”

“Me too. The angle was something new.” He kisses down my cheek to my ear, whispering. My knees instinctively draw together. “But I liked stuffing my cock in your panties. _Very _much.”

Mr. Solo draws away, adjusting my shirt in the process. He reminds me not to be late for class before he leaves.

I lie there for a long time. I feel like I want to cry but nothing comes out. I just tremble.


	15. woah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! uh sorry this took so long
> 
> two things:
> 
> 1\. recently a large polyp was found in my gallbladder and I’ve been obsessing over that more than writing—my husband is also having major surgery this week so kinda been preoccupied 
> 
> 2\. if u have a problem w me or any of the fics i write, feel free to never read my fics again 🤗 really! i insist!
> 
> that’s all enjoy the update !

Mr. Solo picks me up at our drop off spot after school and brings me back to his house. He sets me up in the living room with my homework and a snack, kisses my forehead, and leaves to talk to Unkar.

I munch on blueberries and pretzels while he’s gone. The house is quiet and still and I get through my history homework in half an hour. Boring stuff, just answering questions about the Civil War. I have math and chem homework, too.

I glance at the door, pressing my thighs together thinking about this afternoon. Crazy. Mr. Solo acted like nothing happened during chem even though I was totally flustered not wearing underwear.

Not a lot seems to phase him. Must be an Alpha thing.

Hours pass. I finish all my homework and my snack and scroll through Facebook and Twitter to see what everyone’s doing. Rose texts me to ask if I want to hang out and I tell her I’m busy working for Unkar. Can’t tell her where I _really _am or—

A key crunches in the lock. I sit up straight, heart skipping a beat, and Mr. Solo steps inside.

He’s a little disheveled: hair is messy but he passes a hand through it and it does that thing where it goes right into place . He smiles at me and I smile back as he shuts the door and locks it. How did it go? Is Unkar going to back off or call the cops or…?

“Homework done?” Mr. Solo asks. I nod eagerly. “Good girl. Let’s have dinner before you try on your new clothes.”

I follow him out to the kitchen and obediently take my seat at the table. He opens the fridge and I notice his knuckles are raw and red. Huh.

“How did it go?” I ask.

Mr. Solo sucks in his cheek, raising his eyebrows as he sets a Tupperware container on the island. Looks like soup. Yum.

He opens the lid. “About how I expected, but Unkar won’t be giving us any issues from now on. Tomorrow we can pick up some of your things.”

Pick up some of my things? I watch him pour soup in a bowl and put it in the microwave, a smile slowly spreading across my face. I can stay here? I don’t have to go back to living with Unkar? That’s amazing—that’s great news. Intimidating, kind of.

Mr. Solo brings me my soup and a glass of water and I dig in. He sits and eats, too, pensive, gazing off into space. I hope he isn’t having second thoughts.

He gives me a second bowl of soup when I’m done with the first and I’m given wine instead of water. I try not to look nervous as I take a sip because I know it means he’s trying to get me relaxed for when we fool around later. It’s better this way.

“Is your neck still itchy, Rey?”

Mr. Solo is watching me and raises his eyebrows when I frown at him, confused. _Oh_—right.

I shake my head. “No, it’s been okay.”

“…Good, good.” He studies me for another moment, idly taking a sip of soup. “Anything else? Cramps? Aches?”

“No, I’ve been fine.”

He nods, gaze wandering away.

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

After dinner he leads me upstairs to his bedroom. My heart pounds and I hold my wine glass with both hands. Do I have to try the stuff on in front of him or can I use the bathroom? I have a feeling it’s the prior but I don’t know what he’s expecting and that’s a little nerve-wracking. Am I supposed to like… _strip_?

The clothes are already out on his bed. Mr. Solo shuts the door behind me and touches the small of my back to guide me to them, and I hesitantly obey.

There’s a lot: panties and bras, dresses and jeans and tops. It’s overwhelming—I’m suddenly stricken with the realization that this is a bribe and _way _too much and I’m nauseous and nervous. This is way too much. I thought I’d be more excited but I’m just uncomfortable.

He likes me though. Mr. Solo likes me, so I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything.

Hands wind over my hips from behind, roaming to the button on my jeans. He kisses my cheek and I shiver, swaying, clinging to his forearms.

“What would you like to try on first, Rey?” he murmurs. My zipper comes down. “Anything in particular?”

I shake my head, just about frozen in fear. He pushes my jeans down my hips—I guess we’re way past his moral crisis from a couple weeks ago—and his huge hands are on my bare hips, kisses wandering down my neck. I’m a little afraid he’s just going to bend me over in the pile of clothes and fuck me. He won’t. He said we have to go slowly which is fine.

His mouth moves against my skin. I think he’s smiling but can’t be sure.

“Do you mind if I pick?” he asks.

I shake my head. It’s easier that way. I’ll wear whatever he wants and we both know it.

Mr. Solo helps me out of my shirt and I’m standing there naked in front of him, back to his chest. He keeps a hand on the small of my back while he picks what he wants: a white dress with red flowers and white panties. No bra, not that I ever really need a bra.

It strikes me, as he tells me to lift my arms, that maybe I should call him by his first name. We’re well enough _acquainted _with each other now. Isn’t it weird to keep thinking of him as a Mister or authority figure or teacher? Aren’t we kind of equals? He likes me and I obviously like him and I don’t think most women call their boyfriends ‘Mister’.

I’m turned around when the dress is on. Mr. Solo gets to his knees and holds the panties so I can step into them, and I grasp his shoulder.

“Um…” I totter to the side. “So… should I call you Ben, or…?” He guides my panties up my hips. Snug but not too tight.

His hands stay on my hips and he looks up at me, eyebrows raised. It’s the look he gives me when I ask something weird or stupid but I don’t think it’s a stupid question.

“Why?” he asks.

“…Well, I mean—it’s just weird. Since we’re like… you know.” I motion helplessly between us and his stare is making me blush. “This. Thing.”

Mr. Solo smiles. He searches my face for a moment before he stands up and I just look at the floor, severely humiliated. Cool. Great. Glad I asked.

“Do you think I’m your boyfriend, Miss Niima?”

I shrug, then shake my head. Yes.

He doesn’t reply. He starts folding the clothes on the bed instead, gathering them into neat piles while I stand there uncomfortably and wait. I’m all hot and trembly from embarrassment. He said I’m his and blah blah; why wouldn’t I think he’s my boyfriend?

We’re quiet while we works, and he doesn’t speak to me until he’s almost done.

“Traditionally—” Mr. Solo shrugs, and I peer up at him. He’s folding my dresses. “Alphas and Omegas don’t have the same relationships Betas do. Boyfriend, girlfriend: those imply a degree of equality demi-humans don’t have.”

“…Oh.”

“The Alpha provides generously and the Omega receives graciously—to make things simpler and more comfortable. Equality makes relationships complex; too difficult to navigate. You like when I make those decisions for you, don’t you, little one?”

His dark eyes flicker to mine and I nod quickly, lowering my gaze. Sure. It’s nice that he cares enough to buy me clothes and make me dinner and stuff. And if he likes making the small choices, like what I’ll wear or what I’ll eat, I guess that’s nice, too. Generous. Then I never have to wonder if I’m making him happy.

Mr. Solo kisses the top of my head. “I know it seems foreign and backwards to a Beta.”

“No,” I exclaim, shaking my head. “It’s fine with me. I don’t mind.”

He laughs a little—I don’t know why—and starts putting my clothes away in his dresser. I wait, too nervous to even reach down for my wine sitting on the floor. Could really use some right now. I’m not used to wearing dresses; never had the money for nice ones. I feel fancy.

Mr. Solo closes the last drawer as he finishes up. His hands stay there for a minute.

“I care very much about you, Rey.”

“Me too,” I blurt, leaping for the bone he’s throwing me. “I care about you, I mean. Me too.”

He looks at me over his shoulder, pensive, then breaks into a slim smile. I smile back and try not to wring my hands like a weirdo. Relax. Dipshit.

“I bought something special to help you relax,” he says. “It should make things more comfortable.”

“Oh—great. Thank you.”

“Mhm.” His eyes wander down my dress. “And as much as it pains me as an Alpha, I picked up Plan B, too. I’ll have to bring you to the doctor for birth control for the long-term but the Plan B will work for tonight.”

That’s thoughtful. I nod eagerly and he walks past me to his nightstand. That’s good. Don’t want to get pregnant in high school. That will make going to college and moving out on my own _way _harder, and I don’t think I’m anywhere near ready for a baby.

Mr. Solo comes back a minute later with a white pill offered on the tip of his index finger. It has a dove imprinted on the front. Neat. 

“What is it?” I ask, as one does before taking strange pills.

“Something nice.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “I’ll give you the Plan B tomorrow morning after we’re done playing.”

I redden, nodding, and take it with a sip of wine. Mr. Solo tips the glass back by the bottom with his fingertip and I drink the rest. Burns a little.

He takes the empty glass. “Why don’t we go downstairs and watch a movie? The medication takes some time to kick in.”

I shrug, nodding, and he leads me from the bedroom by the small of my back. Sure, I could go for a movie.

Mr. Solo sets up the movie (_Coco_, a good one) and lies behind me on the couch. I don’t think we’ll fit but he wraps an arm around my middle and squishes my back to his chest and we do fit. He covers us with a blanket and I get prickly and hot when he nuzzles into the crook of my neck.

He’s warm. It’s dark and quiet, only the movie flickering in the room; only the sound of the couch creaking as we adjust. My heart pounds in my ears once we’re settled and Mr. Solo languidly kisses my neck, lips brushing my skin as he moves from spot to spot. His arm stays draped over my waist.

The movie carries on, and I gradually notice heat oozing through my arms and legs. I shake them, unnerved by the sensation. What the heck?

Mr. Solo stirs behind me and rubs my stomach. “It’s okay. You’re going to feel funny but you’ll like it.”

The heat oozes to the tips of my toes and my fingertips and I squirm, anxiety fading into curiosity and vague confusion. I’m not sure what’s happening but it starts happening fast and I am all of a sudden heavy and very light at the same time and my skin is tight. Not drowsy—I thought drugs would make me drowsy. Relaxed. Limbs are heavy. Hard to move.

_Coco _swims around the room and I follow it, mouth agape, squirming away from Mr. Solo to watch it move up toward the ceiling. He gently pulls me back into his embrace with a soft, amused murmur.

“Going somewhere?” I nod and he makes a vague encouraging sound as he kisses down my neck. “Where are you going?”

I shrug, blinking in surprise when the moving screen disappears. It’s back where it was and I writhe again, grasping the edge of the couch—I really want to go look—but Mr. Solo laughs and restrains me. His mouth feels _really _nice on my neck and I turn my jaw to make it easier for him to kiss down my throat.

Dull warmth radiates out from my chest, tingling along my nerves like crackles of lightning. I’m so stunned by it that I barely register much else, even Mr. Solo’s hand going under my dress.

He brushes his fingertips up my inner thigh and I press back against him, flushed with pleasure by it. Feels nice. Comfortable. I’m comfortable. Feel good. He’s kissing me and tracing the hem of my panties and I whine and hook my ankle back over his calf, struggling closer. Got to get closer.

“There she is,” Mr. Solo coos. He wraps his hand around my thigh and squeezes. “There’s my happy good girl.” His voice lowers, still gentle, but with a hungry edge. “Do you want me to play with your pussy, good girl?”

I nod, hesitation a brief fleeting thought. He takes a shaky breath and traces his fingertip down the front of my panties, all the way between my legs and back to the top. I’m vaguely frustrated by it and paw for his huge hand, linking our fingers, taken by another wave of warmth and pleasure. It’s really nice being close to him. It’s like we’re melting together.

Mr. Solo doesn’t stop me as I fumble to push his hand down my panties. I think he holds his breath because he exhales sharply on my neck, extending his fingers and shivering when he brushes my slit. I squirm and widen my thighs and roll my hips against the heel of his palm. Don’t know what I want but it’s something.

Emotions swell up faster than I can process them and I almost burst into tears before bouncing back to feeling calm again. I keep my eyes closed so the room doesn’t spin but I feel his hand moving in my underwear, thick fingers between my legs. Stroking. It makes my thighs tighten and my belly clench.

Mr. Solo lightly circles my clit with his middle finger, and I realize I’m moaning kind of loud. My jaw snaps shut and a quick flush of embarrassment nearly brings me to tears again.

Then—it _does_. I’m crying and he’s shushing me, and I feel him moving around something behind my lower back. The couch groans as he shifts.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers. “Am I hurting you?” I shake my head and he makes a sympathetic rumbling murmur, kissing the edge of my jaw. “You were making such pretty sounds for me.”

“‘M _loud_,” I lament in a raspy voice. I swallow, sniffling. “Too loud.”

Mr. Solo adjusts and wet, soft heat brushes my inner thigh. I don’t resist when he tugs my panties down to my knees and feel his cock slide between my legs.

He swallows loudly in my ear, breathless. “You? You’re not too loud. I think you sound very pretty.”

“…Oh. Okay.” I sniffle, restrained so tightly against him that I can barely move my hips. “I love you.”

It slips out and I’m not at all ashamed, even though I feel somewhere that I should be. He groans, slowly rolling his hips to stroke his cock along my entrance until it comes close to where he’s teasing my clit. I relax into his tight embrace and twist my neck so I can kiss the edge of his jaw. I really do love him.

“How much do you love me?” he asks, hugging me even closer.

“…A lot.”

He laughs, breathy. “A lot, huh?”

I nod, lower lip wobbling. Is he making fun of me? That’s not nice.

The head of his cock slides at the right angle and presses inside me a little bit. He smooths my hair back from my face with his free hand and the other keeps moving between my legs, squirming under the blanket. I want to cry again.

“I love you a lot, too,” he whispers in my ear. He’s pushing in but I barely notice. “I just want to spoil you, little one.”

I’m not sure what to say—I’m brimming with excitement and pleasure and I want to make him happy. I squirm on his cock and ignore the faint aching pain, even when it turns sharp and intense. I can make him happy.

But Mr. Solo shakes his head and slaps my thigh. I jump, startled.

“I know, baby. I know.” His voice is rough and deep and he rubs my thigh where he slapped it. “I want to show you how much I love you, too. Not yet. Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” I mumble.

“Not yet. Just a little bit at a time.”

I’m frustrated. I try to turn over so I have a better angle and I can look at him and kiss him but he holds me firm. His cock is inside me an inch or so and the pressure and heat and his playing with my clit feels _so _nice and I just want to kiss him. Kiss his neck.

I push more until he gives in and lets me turn to face him. I almost fall off the couch but Mr. Solo catches me, and I glimpse his smile and am stunned by it and by him and how beautiful he is. I just stare, lips parted. Wow.

He raises his eyebrows. His dark eyes are hooded and they close when I run my fingertips down his scratchy cheek. Crooked features but somehow he’s beautiful anyway and I don’t want to look away.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, Rey,” he murmurs as my fingers skate along his jaw. His eye cracks open. “I love you, little one.”

My whole head buzzes. I kiss him, pushing my tongue into his mouth, and he laughs and cups the back of my head. I love him a lot. More than anything.

Mr. Solo’s cock slides between us and he grabs my butt to help me move, but I don’t need a lot of encouragement. I’m panting on his neck when I come, heat and tingling pouring down to my toes and buzzing up to my lips, and I whimper _Alpha _instead of his name because ‘Mister Solo’ is just too long.

“Good girl—very good.” He nuzzles my forehead and kisses me, breathless. “Love the way you say my name. Say it again.”

So I say it again: _Alpha_, and he asks me to beg, so I beg: _Alpha, please_, and then he asks me to beg him to come inside me. I want him to, even though he shouldn’t. I like the way it feels right now, like we’re almost one body.

“Please come inside me,” I whimper.

Mr. Solo slaps my ass. “Say my name, Omega.”

“A-Alpha. Alpha—please come—please come inside me.”

“Is that what you want? Do you think you’ve been a good girl?”

I nod and he groans, breath catching. His cock throbs then I feel warm, thick fluid squirting on my belly, and his jerking hips and grunts are clear enough. He’s coming on me—some runs down between my legs and I squirm.

Mr. Solo doesn’t say anything for a minute. He catches his breath in the crook of my neck and I bury my face in his, trying to curl in as close as I can.

He kisses my temple. “Can you turn over for me, baby?”

I’m not really keen on it but I do what I’m told. Mr. Solo starts to sit up and his finger touches some of the sticky cum on my lower belly. He pauses, propped up on his elbow. I blink hard, dizzy, drowsy.

Mr. Solo gently moves my legs so he can stand. I watch him pull up his pants and buckle them, and he glances over his shoulder, smiling.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Stay right here.”

I nod. He leans over and presses a kiss to my hair before he goes, and I slowly turn to watch him. He laughs as he walks upstairs, shaking his head.

My new dress needs to be washed, I think—but that was good. I feel great. I hope it’s not just the drug.


	16. no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I debated ending this fic for a while—I’ve almost been writing it for an entire year and it moves in a circular plot, so I decided it’s time to end
> 
> I’m not against adding more in the future but for now I’m happy w this (open) ending

“Little one.”

It’s dark. Cold. I’m floating, I think: still weightless; still in the upper atmosphere.

But I’m dragged down by Mr. Solo’s voice, and fingertips in my hair tether me back to Earth. My throat is dry and my eyes are heavy—it hurts down here, weighted by gravity and touch. I’m suddenly, keenly aware of my body and all its sensations and a panicked breath comes out like a hiss.

He clicks his tongue. “Shh… shh.”

I’m picked up, one arm under my knees and the other behind my shoulders. Dizzy, I only whimper as my head lolls back and the dark room swirls into a haze of black and blue. He carries me like I’m weightless and it gets my mind spinning off again, dipping into the fantasy that I _am _weightless and floating through space alone—

Heat violently grounds me. I’m whining, delirious as I’m submerged up to my neck. Water splashes and I smell body wash that makes my nose tickle.

“I just want us to have a bath before bed, little one.” Thick restraints wrap around my middle to hold me in place, and lips brush my temple. “I see you’re still high as a kite, aren’t you?”

I nod, lip quivering. My hands are on bare wet skin; I’m either grabbing his thighs or his forearms, and I squeeze, breaking down into pitiful sobs. I’m very dizzy. I don’t like this feeling any more.

Mr. Solo hugs me tighter. He shushes me, mouth roaming down my cheek to my neck, teeth dragging. It makes my spine tingle.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbles.

He bites hard enough to make me cry out. I squirm, pawing at his forearms and crying harder when he doesn’t let go. His teeth don’t break my skin but he won’t let go no matter how hard I struggle, and I’m afraid he’ll tear it off.

His jaw relaxes. Something like a groan and growl comes out of him.

“I’m so sorry.” Mr. Solo kisses the spot he bit and shushes me some more. “I know, I know—it’s okay.” He swallows. “I’m going to take very good care of you, Rey. I promise.”

“Please don’t do th-that,” I stammer between sobs.

“Shh... it’s okay, baby. Don’t cry.”

He bites my neck again in the same spot. This time I shriek, kicking my legs in the tepid bath and digging my nails into his skin. It _hurts_; why is he doing something to me that _hurts_?

He doesn’t let go, squeezing me tighter and tighter until my sobs are choked off and turn into sniffles and hiccups. Mr. Solo exhales through his nose. Vibrations rumble through my back that are like purrs but they don’t help me relax.

He lets go. I squirm but freeze when I feel his teeth on my skin again.

“When I bite you, it means stay still,” he whispers.

I stay still, shivering and sniffling. I think he’s naked because something stiff is pressed along the small of my back, and it twitches whenever I move.

Mr. Solo washes me and drains the tub. I’m steadily grounded by the biting, trembling while he dries me and dresses me in a nightgown. I don’t know why he’s biting me. I’m not an Omega. It won’t do anything and it really hurts.

He carries me down the hall to his bedroom, and I’m detaching again, delirious and lost. He sets me on my feet and kisses my forehead.

“Please don’t bite me,” I mumble.

“I have to bite you, little one. It’s the way these things are.”

I don’t get it—he’s been so nice to me and so patient, so why is he doing something I don’t like?

Mr. Solo cups my face in his hands, tilting so I’m looking up at him. His dark eyes look black and he isn’t smiling.

“You want to be a good girl for me—don’t you?”

I nod. He leans down to kiss my lips, then his hand slides away from my cheek to my shoulder. He pushes lightly.

“Kneel,” he says.

I kneel, wobbling, wincing at how cold the floor is on my knees. Mr. Solo brushes my hair back with a broad brush of his fingers. I’m really dizzy. I have to keep rubbing my eyes and widening them to stay awake.

Clothes rustle. He tells me to close my eyes so I do, swaying back and grasping the front of his pants to keep from teetering over. Fingers curl under my chin to open my mouth and something soft and sticky strokes my upper lip.

I recoil, frowning. Mr. Solo murmurs and pulls me in again, pressing the seam of my lips.

“Open a little for me.” His voice is gentle and raspy. He rubs a circle on my cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be nervous.”

It vaguely registers that he’s prodding my mouth with his penis but I’m too confused to be scared. My lips part and he pushes in, kind of rough, sucking in a sharp breath when I squeak and jerk back. My mouth is full to the back of my throat and I belatedly roll my lips over my teeth.

He fists my hair, holding me in place while he thrusts. My gag reflex kicks in a little and I cough and saliva drools out of my mouth but I don’t react much to his cock squeezing down the back of my throat. It’s easy to kneel there clinging to his sweatpants. He’s doing all the work.

“So good—so good.” He pumps faster, throbbing against my tongue. I taste salt. “Oh _god _that feels so good.”

I’m a mess and helpless and that makes heat pool between my legs. Mr. Solo pants and it mingles with the wet squelch when he thrusts into my mouth, and my ears ring. I’m calm again. My neck hurts from the biting but now my limbs are heavy, and the rhythm of his hips and breaths relaxes me.

“Good girl,” he praises, breathless. “Such a good girl for your Alpha.”

His cock is swelling and I’m stuffed so full of it that I can barely breathe. Tears run from the corners of my eyes but I don’t care—I’m happy I’m making him happy, even if it kills me.

Mr. Solo’s hips suddenly stutter. He groans and warmth rushes down my throat so I only taste a little saltiness, then I’m swallowing quickly on instinct. He rolls his hips slowly, pulling my hair to keep my mouth right where he wants it.

It’s over after a couple seconds. He’s catching his breath as he slips from my mouth and I wipe it with the back of my palm, shaking. Everything still feels heavy and alien and my heart is racing.

Mr. Solo scoops me up under my armpits to set me on the edge of the bed. He goes away for a minute and comes back with a wet washcloth.

He tilts my head and cleans my face. All the adrenaline has me cold and trembling and I can taste him on my tongue. I’m tired. I just want to lie down and cuddle like we did earlier.

“I’m sorry if I was rough,” he says. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

I don’t respond. I nod, and he kisses my cheek once he’s through cleaning my face. He’s an Alpha—I guess I should expect him to be rough.

Mr. Solo tilts my chin up on his fingertip to make me look at him. He’s smiling, too beautiful for me again, and it makes me cry. I don’t know why he likes me. I think I’m afraid of him; afraid of this. I mean, he just fucked my mouth and didn’t even ask permission.

He sighs. “Oh no, no. You’re so emotional today, little one. Must be your medicine.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I just nod, and he wraps his arms around me. I dunno. Maybe it’s the drugs.

—•—

It’s light out when I wake to Mr. Solo’s big hand in my panties.

Embarrassment comes fast without the drugs—he’s behind me, one arm draped over my hip while he slowly pumps his finger inside me. My face burns and I squirm and swallow down a protesting whimper. Um… excuse me...

He pulls me closer to his chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

It doesn’t hurt but it’s scary waking up to him doing it without asking. I’m wet and my hips twitch as he gently pushes in a second finger, drawing a whine from me. Ah—that’s a lot—his fingers are really thick. It’s stretching in a weird way.

Mr. Solo exhales shakily. He moves slow and rhythmic and peppers kisses on my neck, I think to help me relax, but it’s hard to relax.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, little one,” he whispers.

He keeps saying that lately. _I’m going to take such good care of you_. I want someone to take care of me. Really badly. He’s the closest I’ve gotten.

His hand slips from my panties so he can turn and reach for something on his nightstand behind him. It must be early because the light coming through the windows is soft yellow and I don’t hear many birds outside. I squint, pressing my knees together as anxiety creeps up into my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever be relaxed around Mr. Solo.

He curls around me again, offering a white pill on his palm. The sight of it makes me nauseous and I shake my head. I don’t like how it makes me feel.

“But you were so sweet and relaxed with your medicine,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “I can already tell how nervous you are, Rey.”

I bite my lower lip, staring at the pill. I don’t want to be nervous but the drug makes me _too _relaxed. I guess that’s better than being tense and miserable.

It’s hard to swallow dry but I manage. Mr. Solo praises me and kisses my neck, making me tense up all over again, worried I’ll get bitten. It’s normal for him I guess but it isn’t normal for me. It hurts. It’s scary.

“I’m going to take such good care of you.” His hand slips under the hem of my panties, breath warm on my ear. “I’m all you need.”

“Please don’t bite me?”

He laughs softly, tracing his index finger down my slit to my entrance. I blush.

“You’re so sweet, Rey.” He eases his finger inside me, followed shortly by another, making me stiffen. “My sweet little girl.”

His fingers move and I move with them, panting as the drug slowly settles into my muscles and skin and bone. I’m heavy and weightless all at once and I relax into Mr. Solo’s embrace. He’s warm. Solid. I roll my hips with his measured strokes and the room starts spiraling away from me.

“That’s it.” He’s all around me, deep voice penetrating down to my marrow. “Just relax for me, baby. Think about all the nice presents I’m going to buy you.”

“…Presents?” I echo, croaking.

“Well you’ll need toys to keep you entertained while you wait for me to come home.” I frown and he laughs again. He has a nice laugh. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I love you so much. I’m going to spoil you rotten.”

I like the sound of that, I think. He gently rolls me on my back, crawling between my thighs, and I dream of all the toys I want. I never had an American Girl doll, or a Barbie, or anything else everyone else had. It would be nice to have things.

Mr. Solo kisses me. His hand is between my legs, guiding his cock in short strokes from my clit to my entrance, and he lingers and pushes. It’s light. I wince but he presses in an inch or so and it doesn’t hurt. I’m all wet and ready and before I know it he’s pushing further.

A pulse of excitement and fear prickles up my arms and legs to their tips. I whimper and widen my thighs. Ah—Ah—

“—_Fuck_.” Mr. Solo’s teeth click. He’s in, now a couple more inches; I think we’re really going to do it. He takes a couple deep breaths and buries himself deeper, and I gasp. “Christ—”

It’s a good thing I’m high because I’m worried he’s going to tear my body in half. It’s a tight stretch that feels like I’m being pulled to my limits and I’m afraid if I move he really will accidentally rip me in two, so I lie still, thighs wide and trembling.

He bumps into the back wall of me and I startle. It hurts a little but when he does it again I find it easier to ignore. I wonder if he’s all the way in.

I think so. I think he is. I find it hard to focus on anything while Mr. Solo thrusts and breathes hard on my neck, and I just lie there and take it instead. It’s better if I don’t move a lot.

He’s fucking me hard into his bed, rattling the headboard. His heavy body has mine pinned but I don’t mind it; I like the way his heart pounds and his voice hitches in stifled groans and grunts. It’s really visceral. Intimate. This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen another person.

“Gonna fill you up,” Mr. Solo pants. He nips the crook of my neck. “Gonna fill up this tight little pussy.” His voice cracks and rumbles to a low groan. “_Christ_—I’m gonna pop a knot, Rey.”

I blink slow, not registering. A what?

I’m stretched so far I can’t imagine any more but something thickens just inside me. Mr. Solo fucks me a little faster and I frown and squirm. Feels weird.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, breathless, “just stay nice and still for me.”

The pressure suddenly intensifies.

My eyes widen as he pounds into me, and I feel strange searing pain. I yelp in surprise, struggling away from it but held firmly in place by Mr. Solo, whose groans turn guttural and drawn out like growls. Pain fades to an ache and a very frightening sensation like something is stuck inside me. There’s a rush of warmth and he stills, biting my neck.

I don’t scream. I only manage a soft gasp, stunned to silence. His teeth are in my skin. There’s dull pain in so many places and I can’t find one to focus on.

Mr. Solo swallows, turning to his side. I turn, choking at the sensation of our bodies tethered together and the uncomfortable tug of it. Tears well up in my eyes.

“It’s okay—it’s okay.” He shushes me, kissing my hair, hugging me close. Blood runs down my neck. “Shh… shh… you’re okay, little one. I’m here.”

I’m not okay. I’m the opposite of okay.

I sob. I squirm, shaking my head and struggling and pushing on his broad bare chest. We’re both naked—I don’t even remember when he took my clothes off. He knotted me and bit me and my whole body aches and I just want to get away from him.

Mr. Solo hugs me tighter. “I know. It’s okay.” He smells my hair, lowering his voice. “You did so well for your Alpha, didn’t you? Such a good girl.”

“Please—please—”

“I think tomorrow I’ll go buy you whatever presents you want, since you were such a good girl for me. Good girls get whatever they want.”

I cry. I don’t know what to say, because I don’t want to upset him, and I don’t want to lose my present.

“It hurts,” I croak.

“…I know. I’m sorry.” He kisses my forehead, heaving a long sigh. “It’s going to get easier when you’ve had more of your injections, and you’ll be nice and relaxed being home all the time.”

“Wh-What do you m-mean?”

I tilt my head to look up at him, sniffling. Mr. Solo searches my face and smiles.

“We’ll talk about it soon,” he says. His thumb brushes tears from under my eyes. “Just try to relax, little one. I’ll make sure everything you need is taken care of.”

I stare at him. I’m sore and scared and I don’t know if I believe him but I really want to.

“…Promise?” I sniffle.

“Of course.” He raises his eyebrows and his smile widens. “Just me and you forever.”

I definitely want to believe that. I nod, lowering my gaze and nuzzling under his chin. His cum leaks out of me and blood is running down my collarbone, and maybe I’m a little bruised, and I think this is what happiness feels like.


End file.
